


If You Loved Me

by BuckyBarnesDontCare



Series: Through Thick and Thin [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Marvel Universe, Original Character(s), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-09 00:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 46
Words: 229,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1961187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckyBarnesDontCare/pseuds/BuckyBarnesDontCare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If I'm going to keep you alive, it's important that Hydra thinks you're dead, so I'm keeping you here for the next few days until I can remember whether or not I knew you."</p><p>"And if you don't?" Andrea knew the answer already, so she wasn't sure why she asked. Maybe she just wanted to hear him say it, as pathetic as that would sound to anyone else.</p><p>The Winter Soldier shrugged, turning and heading for the door of the room. "Then, I'll kill you."</p><p>Andrea sighed and rested her head in her hands. Not once in her life did she ever remember signing up for this shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Encounter

It'd been ten minutes since he'd left his 'home' and five since he'd decided it would probably be in his best interest to eat something when he heard the shouts of a young girl, those typically associated with an emergency. Half of him wanted to just walk away; that was the _bad_  half. The half that was still dominated completely by the Russians, ruled by the Winter Soldier in all his indifference, _that_  was the half that wanted to leave her there, screaming and crying. He knew that if he didn't stop for her, no one would, and that half could live with the knowledge that he could've intervened but hadn't.

And then there was the good half, the half that still emanated James Buchanan Barnes in all his American soldier glory, and was damn near fighting for him to go and save that girl. She probably had a family somewhere that would be absolutely crushed if anything happened to her, and friends that loved her with all their hearts, maybe even a boyfriend that was planning on proposing soon. If he didn't go and save her, she might be taken away from all of them.

Ironically, the only thing stopping him was himself, and that was something he hated beyond words. He didn't used to have this problem; hell, he didn't used to have a bionic arm, but hey, shit happens. It was as though he was split right down the middle, from his head to his toes, each half being pulled in a different direction.

Deciding he may as well survey the situation in case he felt inclined to help, he walked closer to the alleyway, one of many in Brooklyn, and peaked around the corner. A man about his size, though far less built, was attempting to hold down a struggling brunette girl. From what he could see she was a small thing, and wouldn't be up for fending the man off much longer.

"Give up yet, you little bitch?" the man snarled, viciously flinging her to the ground. The question was obviously rhetorical.

To his mild surprise, the girl (whose nose was bleeding, blood running its way to her chin) grinned up at the man, though her posture was that of an injured doe. "Are you kidding me?" She wiped some of the blood on her sleeve, only succeeding in smearing it further. "I could do this all day."

Something snaps, then, something inside his mind. Distantly, he heard the girl's words, the same sentence in a similar alley, the only difference being that the voice in his head was slightly deeper; the voice of a man. Or, rather, a boy. He sees the face of James Barnes's best friend, the man he almost ended several weeks ago.

Almost immediately, he charged forward, grabbing the man's shirt. "Hey," he growled, swinging the man around and shoving him away, against one of the brick walls, "why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

The man hit the wall hard with an audible thud, but it hadn't been enough to incapacitate him. The strong stench of alcohol wafted off him, and really, that wasn't surprising. "Why don't you mind your own fucking business, asshole?" The man's arm shot out, managing to clip him on his jaw before also aiming his foot for a kick to the stomach. He easily caught the man's foot in his grasp, and twisted his leg around. Not enough to break it, but just enough to let the drunk know that if he chose, he could do serious damage. As it turned out, James Barnes had been the one to step in, but the Winter Soldier had been the one to take initiative. "A few weeks ago, I wouldn't have hesitated to rip your leg from your body." Another twist, this one smaller. The man's face is contorting into agony. "You've caught me in a merciful mood. Leave."

As soon as he let go, the man fell forward, got up, and ran. After a moment, he turned to assess the girl and any damage that'd been done to her, only to have the back of his knee kicked. Thanks to the force, he had no choice but to collapse.

The same man, who apparently didn't realize when it would be a good idea to give up, now held a small pocket knife to his throat. That was probably the most amusing thing about the entire situation. Just the thought that a pocket knife could take down the Winter Soldier was enough to make him want to laugh.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" the man's deep voice rasped. "I should teach you a lesson about mindin' your own-"

The Soldier managed to wrench the knife from the man's unsuspecting hand in the same moment that another body hurled into the man's, leaving him free to watch the girl wrestle the drunk to the ground and punch him, several times, in the face. The action had the Winter Soldier in awe and James Barnes in admiration. Not only did the man not recognize when enough was enough, but this girl didn't recognize when to let the fight end, proven correct when the man punched the girl in the stomach from below, causing her to yelp in pain. He got his hands around her throat and began squeezing, but that didn't last long.

The Winter Soldier pressed forward, harshly wrenching the girl out of the man's grasp, and promptly kicking him in the face. Then, taking a moment to decide what pain he wanted to cause and how much of a display this man was to be, he lifted his foot, clad in a leather boot, and stepped down on the man's lower shin. _Hard._

Waiting for the man's screams of pain to die down, he leaned forward and grabbed him by the shirt collar, forcing the man to look him in the eyes. "Do I look like the type of person who plays games? Do you not understand that when someone tells you to _leave_ -" He nudges the man's leg gently, coaxing another scream out of him. "-you leave?"

Tears were streaming down the man's face, mixing with blood that had sprung up on account of the girl's punches and his kick. "I'm s-sorry," he gasped, shaking his head, "p-please don't hurt me anymore."

He took a moment to listen to the thoughts running through his mind. Both the Winter Soldier and James Barnes were silent; neither of them felt sympathy for the man.

"Girl?" he barked, glancing at the brunette who was still curled on the ground. It came back to him that she'd been punched very hard in the stomach, strangled for a second or two, at least hit several times in the face before he'd shown up, and God knew what else. In light of all of that, he might have a reason to worry about her.

Leaving the man to his pathetic whimpers, James Barnes stepped towards the girl, kneeling down and observing her. Short, yes, but athletic, with toned arms and legs; if he had to guess, he'd have said she was a dancer. Her skin was light brown, the color of someone who might be biracial, and her hair was long and brown as well. Underneath the blood and the bruises, she must have been very pretty.

"Miss?" he asked, gently allowing a hand to touch her shoulder, attempting to shake her into awareness. "Can you hear me?"

She nodded her head but kept her eyes scrunched shut. "I'm... okay," she gasped, body shaking. 'Okay' was definitely not the word he would have used. Her breathing was hard and she was visibly in pain. 'Roughed up' maybe, but definitely not _okay_.

Rolling his eyes and standing the girl up, he pulled one of her arms over his shoulders and placed his own around her waist. For the first few seconds she tried to get away, then realized that he was not, in fact, attempting to harm her. "You don't have to," she forced out as he began walking her forward, "I can get home on my own."

"Not if you're breathing like that," was his simple reply.

He walked her passed the man (who was still whimpering in pain) and out of the alley, getting them back to one of the main streets. Now he only needed to figure out where it was they were going. "Hey, you still awake, doll face?"

Doll face. Not a phrase that he tended to use at all, really. At least, not recently; it must have been a term that James Barnes used to use frequently towards girls like this one. Of course, he couldn't remember a time when he'd used it, but he liked the way it sounded.

"Yeah," she mumbled, leaning further into his side. The Winter Soldier observed this, and predicted that she must have some sort of minor injury to her leg. "I'm feeling, like, really tired, though." Out of breath, strained voice. It would be best to keep her talking.

"Tell me something about yourself," he prompted as he tried to figure out which way he should turn at the upcoming street corner. "What's your name?"

It took a bit longer for her to reply than he liked. "Alexandrea," she told him. Then, "Turn left. My apartment building is two blocks away."

He did as she said and continued asking her questions to keep her concentrated as they went, not being able to help mentally cataloging every single answer. Alexandrea Jamison, twenty years old, part time waitress, dance major in college. James Barnes smirked when he heard the last one.

Once they made it inside the building and into the elevator, he allowed Alexandrea to push the button that lead to the third floor. When the doors opened, he noticed she was losing color in her face, and fast.

"Are you feeling faint?" he asked, walking her out of the elevator and down the hall. "Dizzy, lightheaded?"

Alexandrea shook her head and inhaled a deep breath. "No, but I feel like I could probably start vomiting in a few minutes. That guy packed a frickin' punch."

If he didn't know better, he'd say she sounded _surprised_ that a grown man twice her size could punch her hard enough to cause her nausea.

They made it to her apartment, and once the door was unlocked and opened, he lead her in wordlessly, setting her down on the couch of the living space and moving towards the kitchen to find things that could be of use. Paper towels rested next to the stove and an ice pack was in the freezer. Underneath the sink, peroxide; it wasn't his first choice for cleaning wounds and it'd sting like hell, but i would do well enough for the cuts on her face.

He walked back to where Alexandrea was sprawled and found her blinking to keep herself awake. Something, somewhere in the back of his mind, found the flutter of her lashes endearing, but the thought didn't live long enough to call his full attention to it. "I'm going to treat your cuts," he said before kneeling down on one knee in front of her. "If you can, try and hold still.

She didn't protest; perhaps it was because she was too out of it to do so. Her brown eyes looked up at his face, and he can't help but note how rich the color of her irises are. He's not sure why she's staring at him so intently, and eventually chalks it up to the fact that she needs something to focus on and he's right in front of her.

Alexandrea was a perfectly lovely patient until he attempted to touch the paper towel to one of the cuts on her forehead. As soon as he'd made contact, she jerked her head away from his hand holding the chemical soaked rag and yelled, " _Son of a bitch_!"

"Please, it can't hurt that bad." He didn't attempt to hide the laughter in his voice. "Are you going to let me clean you up? Or would you rather take your chances with infection?"

"Go ahead," she sighed. It seemed she'd figured out that the best way to ignore the pain was to focus on something else, because right before he lowered the towel to her forehead again, she winced and asked, "What about you? Do you have a name?"

His first instinct was to lie through his teeth and give her a false identity. That's what he used to do on the missions where he'd actually had to talk to people, but those names, admittedly, had probably not been very believable. He'd already hesitated too long anyway, and knew that if he answered with anything less than the truth, Alexandrea would be able to tell.

But, what did he call himself? Somehow, he didn't think Winter Soldier appropriate, and as for James Barnes, he was not entirely sure he was moral enough to uphold the reputation he'd left behind. Still, though, it was a name, it was his, and that was all that the girl was asking for.

Moving the towel to a nasty scrape located on one of Alexandrea's cheeks, he told her, "My name is James Buchanan Barnes." When he saw the look on her face, he realized his mistake.

The story of Captain America and the Howling Commandos was something known nation wide by the United States. Hell, he knew it first hand; he'd been to the museum when he'd gone on his little trip of self discovery, seen the large display of portraits of Steve Rogers, all the history facts, and the entire section dedicated to himself. They taught his story in history classes, and this girl? Well, she looked just out of high school.

He was waiting for the recognition to dawn on her, for her to realize just who it was taking care of her when a laugh escaped her. That wasn't exactly what he had expected. "What are you laughing at?" he demanded, leaning back from her.

"Nothing," she stated quickly, trying (and failing) to hide the amused grin on her face. "Just... James Buchanan?"

"What's wrong with my name?" He was annoyed now, and didn't understand why this girl smiled so mischievously at him. James Buchanan had been the name he was given at birth; what was wrong with it?

"Nothing's wrong with it," Alexandrea assured, the expression on her face changing. He realized that she was just trying to joke around and that he should have taken her laughter lightly. "I'm sorry; my brother always told me that I manage to get too offensive when I'm trying to tease. It's just, James Buchanan was the name of a president of the US and minister to Russia. You're parents must be really into history, yeah?"

It isn't what he expected in any way. There was no clue that said she recognized who he was, and the only connection she could make to his name was that he shared it with a former president and Russian minister. He couldn't help but laugh at the second part because, after all, there was irony everywhere. "I suppose they were," was all he permitted out of his mouth.

By the time he'd gotten her cuts disinfected, an ice pack on her ankle, a heating pad on her stomach, and she was alert enough to stop blinking herself awake, it had become practically midnight. He stood up and rubbed his eyes, shocked at how tired he'd managed to become.

"You'll be sore in the morning," he let Alexandrea know, arching his back into a stretch as he did so. "If you can, take the day off tomorrow and stay in bed; it won't help the bruises or the healing process, but you'll feel better than you do."

"Wait," she started, blinking up at him with round brown eyes. They pulled at something in his mind, but again, it flew off into his subconscious before it became too noticeable. "You're not leaving, are you? It's late."

"Exactly. Which is why I should leave and let you sleep."

Alexandrea rolled her eyes and ran a hand through her already wild mass of waves. It was a habit of hers, he'd learned over the last hour, to do both when something didn't make sense in her opinion. "Dude, no. There are some sketchy people out there, and I'm gonna feel really bad if you have to walk home through that because you were here playing doctor for me. I've got a spare room you can use; stay."

Illogical. It wasn't like he had to walk; the number of cabs and taxis in Brooklyn had significantly increased since the time of World War II, and, anyway, he was more than capable of taking care of himself. Still, though, he knew how unusually tired he was, and if she was offering for him to stay the night... well, then, what the hell?

"Are you sure it's okay?" He hated how hesitant he sounded. Alexandrea may have been the first female he'd spoken to in a long, long time, but he knew how easily he used to charm women and hold conversations with them.

"If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't offer." She shifted the ice pack and heat pad off her body, then stood and motioned for him to follow her. Alexandrea lead him down a short hall and opened one of three doors located there. Inside was a bed and a closet. "For you. Some of my brother's stuff is in the closet, but he hasn't visited in forever, so feel free to borrow some clothes. My room's right next to this one; if you need anything, yell, okay?"

It was shocking how quickly their situation switched from him caring for her to the other way around. The Winter Soldier didn't like that he was accepting charity from a young college student, but James Barnes didn't seem to mind. In fact, he seemed all the more encouraged because of the fact that she was female, and the Winter Soldier was not sure what to make of these feelings.

When he turned to give her a quiet thank you, he found that she was gazing at him in the way she did, eyes slightly narrowed and teeth catching the corner of the inside of her mouth. It looked as though she was trying to figure something out, and once she realized it wouldn't come to her on its own, she finally addressed him about what was on her mind. "Okay, this totally isn't me hitting on you, but you look sort of familiar. Do I know you?"

The easiest way he could think of to dodge the bullet was to shrug it off and deny everything. "I don't think so. I would've remembered you." It wasn't his intention to cause a blush to flood her face, and when he realized that the nature of his words could be flirtatious, it only made him want to slap himself mentally. It was only made that much worse because of his words being sincere; he never forgot a face.Talking to women, it was safe to assume, was not as easy as being an assassin. "Good night, Alexandrea. Thank you for your kindness."

Alexandrea smiled up at him. "You're welcome. Good night, James." And with that, she turned, entered her room, and shut the door behind her, prompting him to do the same. He took a few things from the closet (the street clothes he had managed to come by were not the most comfortable things by any means) and laid down on the mattress.

For a few moments he made himself appreciate what it felt like, because he couldn't remember the last time he had the luxury of sleeping on an actual bed. It was far different from the cryogenic tube that Hydra used to force him into, thankfully, and yet it almost seemed as though a bed was too good to be true. It was too soft, too comforting. Certainly he didn't deserve it; what had he done to deserve anything?

He didn't like where his train of thought was going, so he decided to shift it onto Alexandrea. Already, he knew that the name was too long for him to address her by repeatedly, and that if he was going to talk to her often, he'd need to find a shorter form of the name. Not that he planned to stick around long, but it couldn't hurt to have a nickname on hand, could it?

Such an interesting girl she seemed to be. The way she acted wasn't that of the females he'd ever encountered before, but then, present times weren't exactly the 1940's and the only female he'd encountered since he was last out of the cryogenic chamber besides Alexandrea was Natasha Romanov. Although he was sure that Natasha was a lovely woman, she didn't count, because the only reason he'd interacted with her in the first place was to kill her.

Still, though, Alexandrea was not a target of his, and he found her ways peculiar. She spoke and laughed loudly, her sense of humor (whether she knew it or not) was slightly offensive, and her mannerisms were that of an eccentric child. While to some people that may make her immature, it managed to intrigue him greatly. Was it common for a twenty year old girl to act in such a way these days?

He turned on his side and resolved to think more on the subject at a different time. It wouldn't do him any good in the morning if he was still as unusually tired as he was then, and he'd have to figure out food. The ache in his stomach was prominent and though he regretted not having gone out for food like he'd originally planned, he did not regret stopping to help Alexandrea.

Thoughts of this strange, young American college student still played in his mind as he drifted off to sleep.


	2. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! It's only been a couple days since I published the first chapter, but I really couldn't wait to get the second one up! I'll admit that the first few chapters of my story move just a teensy bit slow, but once we hit chapter 8, things start to shift gears ;)
> 
> In this chapter Bucky speaks Russian, and I'm not going to say that it is at all accurate. I don't speak Russian, so I had to use google translate. If you speak Russian and you find it's not accurate, that would be why :)

The first thing that Andrea thought when she woke up was,  _Oh my god, I have a guy in my house_. Not that it was the first time that she'd ever had someone of a different gender sleep over, but this guy? This guy was a babe; a tall, dark haired, blue eyed babe.

For a moment, she let herself remember how he'd saved her yesterday, how he'd stopped a guy from having his way with her. Not many people would take the time to stop, let alone get physically involved themselves. James Barnes was a new kind of exciting and Andrea found herself very much wanting to know more about him.

Then there was the familiarity she'd felt when looking at him. She was almost sure she'd seen him somewhere before, but he'd denied ever meeting her. "I would have remembered you," he'd said. At the time, the words brought a blush to her cheeks, but the more she thought about it, the more she was absolutely positive she'd seen James's face before.

A quiet knock sounded from the door, making her heart leap in her chest. "Excuse me?" James's voice was soft and hesitant sounding. Andrea decided to chalk it up to him not wanting to disturb her, just in case she was still sleeping. "Are you awake, Alexandrea?"

"Yeah," she called back, hating how rough her voice sounded, "just a sec." Andrea hopped out of bed and looked down at her clothes. Black cotton shorts and a green lace edged tank top; decent enough for him to see her wearing, she supposed. She ran a hand through her hair and shuffled her way over to the door to open it up. Once she did, she lost her train of thought.

James was in flannel pajama bottoms and a white shirt, borrowed from the closet full of her brother's clothes. It would seem that the two of them were slightly different in size, as the fabric of the shirt hugged James's chest tightly, riding up at the hem to expose a sliver of his stomach. Andrea found herself unashamedly letting her eyes trail along the planes of his torso, complete awe in her eyes. How in the hell was this guy an actual person?

It was actually embarrassing how long it took her to notice the metal arm on the left side of his body. She was so distracted by how absolutely built James was that the gleaming metal almost slipped her mind entirely, and wouldn't have even entrapped her attention if the light hadn't caught it a certain way. The arm looked like tiered metal, thin black crevices set between each plate, a red star emblazoned upon the shoulder. Somehow, it made him look edgier, and she took her time to admire it.

Something out of a sci-fi novel, that arm was. Andrea couldn't keep herself from looking.

She managed it, though, when James cleared his throat. "See something you like?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. The look on his face was one that Andrea had difficulty deciphering. It was hard to tell if he was upset with her for staring, or if he found it amusing, or both. He was giving absolutely nothing away.

"Uh, no, just..." Deciding the best way to avoid an awkward situation was to change the subject, she cleared her own throat and tried again. "Sorry. What'd you need?"

James simply stared at her, then tilted his head to the side. The look was calculative and precise, taking in every detail he could at once. Andrea found herself staying very still underneath his studying gaze. For some reason he was sizing her up, judging her; she didn't want the conclusion he came to about her to be a negative one.

Eventually, he tore his eyes off her, and spoke, refusing to meet her gaze this time. "Do you... would you happen to have any food? It's been a little while since the last time I ate something."

It was interesting, she thought, how quickly James had switched from predatory size up to a jaw clenched request. He didn't enjoy having to rely on others, Andrea realized. He didn't want to need her help, and yet he asked for it. Definitely an interesting conflict of character, in her mind.

"Sure thing," Andrea answered, nodding and offering him a friendly smile. He saw it and glanced away again, but not before a tiny lift effected both corners of his mouth. "Just, um, give me a few minutes, okay? I need to shower, and then call into work to let them know I'm not gonna show up. I'll be out in, like, five. Is that fine?"

James nodded and turned to walk away. After only a step or two, he turned back and shook his head slightly. "Thank you, Alexan-" He tripped over her name, stumbled with it in his mouth for a moment, then sighed. "Sorry; your name's too damn long. Thank you."

A laugh escaped her, one of genuine amusement. "You know, that might be why people call me Andrea. And you're welcome." With that, she closed the door, listened as his footsteps faded down the short hall, then practically ran for her phone.

\--

After a quick call in to work and a five minute shower, Andrea changed into denim shorts and a green and blue striped tank top. It was stupid, she knew, but she didn't want James to see her in her lazy clothes, and she also didn't want to seem like she was dressing up. Not that she meant to, but what if he thought she did?

Walking through the door into the hall and twisting her damp hair up into a knot on the back of her head, she beelined it for the kitchenette in the apartment. James, she noticed, had settled into the conjoined living room. "Hello," he greeted quietly, watching her as she went. She noticed that his eyes captured her every movement, from the quick steps of her feet to the small twitch of her left hand. James was observant on what seemed to be a paranoid level.

"Hey," Andrea responded. They lapsed into silence and after a moment of awkwardly standing still, Andrea began moving a pan from one of the cupboards to the stove. Reaching to turn the dial on the stove, she decided to try actually upholding a conversation. "So, uh, James. I don't think I actually said thank you for saving my ass yesterday."

"It wasn't a big deal." He hesitated, then after a second, continued, "I used to have a... friend. Kid didn't know when to let a fight end and was always getting himself beat up in alleys. You reminded me of him yesterday, that's all; I always had to step in and help."

An amused smile creeped onto Andrea's face as she ducked and opened the fridge to retrieve the eggs, then set them on the counter and began cracking them one by one. "Oh, okay. So you must have a lot of experience kicking people's asses too, right?"

The laughter that escaped James, so care free and humorous, was a surprise. He'd been so quiet and reserved the past few minutes; he must have found something she'd said ridiculously funny. "Sasha, you have _no_ idea."

"Sasha?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder and quickly looking back when her eyes met his. That was new. There was no way he'd forgotten her name so quickly. After all, he'd been complaining of its length no more than ten or fifteen minutes ago. "Where did that come from?"

"I told you, your name is too long. Sasha is a nickname." She heard him stand and make his way over to her side, watching as she beat the eggs and poured them into the waiting pan. The sizzling fills the absence of noise from the time his sentence ends to the time Andrea figures out a reply.

"Sasha's nowhere close to Alexandrea," she protested. Hopefully he was able to tell that she was only pretending like she cared that it didn't make sense, and that it didn't really matter much to her.

"It is if you're Russian," James replied, carefully reaching around Andrea's body and grasping the handle of the pan. He moved it to one of the cool burners, then dropped his arm back to his side. Andrea did her best to act like she wasn't at all startled by the closeness of his body. Not like he hadn't been full on touching her yesterday, but yesterday she hadn't been fully aware of him. "Andrea doesn't suit you."

"Yeah, okay, whatever." Then under her breath, _"Buchanan_."

James raised an eyebrow. "What did you just call me?"

"Oh, just Buchanan. You know, because I decided that James doesn't suit you. _Just now_."

As Andrea began pulling plates out of a cupboard and splitting the eggs between the two, James sighed. It didn't sound playfully exasperated like she'd hoped it would. "Bucky."

She took the plates over to the small dining table she had and motioned for James to follow her. Once they were both sitting and he had his food in front of him, she asked, "Bucky?"

"It's... short for Buchanan. That friend of mine I was telling you about?" He paused to see if she remembered, and when she nodded that she did, he finished his thought. "He started calling me Bucky one day, and it sort of stuck."

"Bucky Barnes." It certainly sounded like a name. Of course, 'Bucky' wasn't something you often heard as a name anymore, but it worked. James certainly looked more like a Bucky than he did a James. Andrea smiled. "I like it."

"Glad to hear it."

They began eating, and as Andrea watched James - no, she decided, _Bucky_  - wolf down his breakfast, another question came to mind. "You're Russian? You don't seem like a Russian."

Bucky lifted an eyebrow, fixing her with a curious gaze. "Well, what does a Russian seem like?"

She took a moment to ponder this but couldn't find a satisfactory answer, and ended up settling for, "I don't know, just... you don't seem like a Russian."

"I'm not Russian, so you're right about that one." Bucky set his fork down on his plate, already finished eating his food. That had to be some sort of record; how had he managed to eat so fast? "I do speak the language fluently, though."

"Wow, seriously?" Andrea could barely contain her excitement. She'd never met anyone who spoke a foreign language other than Spanish. "That's so great. Will you say something in Russian?"

Tilting his head, Bucky thought it over for a moment. "Okay," he said, " _spasibo za zavtrakom_." His tongue flicked the words out at her quickly and fluidly, as easily as if he'd been speaking the language his entire life. It was strange, she knew, but all she could think about was how lovely the language made his voice sound. Or, perhaps it was his voice that managed to make the language sound lovely. Either way.

Andrea smiled, blushing at the nature of her thoughts. This was a man she barely knew and she was already romanticizing the hell out of him. "What, um, what does that mean?"

He shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "It means 'thank you for breakfast.' It was nice of you." The look on his face was enough to tip Andrea off to the internal monologue parading around his mind.

"You... still hungry?" She was hesitant to ask at first, because it was so obvious that he wasn't looking for charity or pity or anything, and asking might imply that that's what she was trying to give him. But, she knew that look he had, knew what it meant. There were probably several times in her life when she'd gotten it herself.

"No," Bucky stated quickly, "I'm okay."

Andrea pushed her plate towards Bucky very gingerly. He watched her face as she did this and didn't say a word. "Here. I'm not really that hungry."

A few seconds passed. After that, a minute, then two. Of the two hands he had, the one made of flesh and bone carefully reached forward and pulled the plate the rest of the way to him. "You're not going to recover properly if you don't eat and take care of yourself." It was hard for Andrea not to at least giggle, because he said this as he lifted the fork to his mouth, scrambled eggs speared on the tines. He wanted her to eat but didn't refuse the food that was meant to be hers.

"Relax, dude. I'm recovering from a couple of dirty punches that were given to me courtesy of some sketchy dude in an alleyway; it's not like I'm internally bleeding or anything. I think I'll be okay if I skip breakfast."

The look he gave her was enough to confirm disagreement. "Are you always getting attacked like that on the street?" The subject change was subtle, but not subtle enough that she missed it entirely.

Andrea shook her head. "It's not usually that bad. Mostly I just get catcalls from jerks that I pass, and, like, really creepy comments. I try and ignore it most of the time, but..." A vision of the man from yesterday grabbing her by the back of the shirt, ripping the fabric and pulling her into the alley came to mind, and she shivered. She couldn't get away from it fast enough. "That's the second time someone's grabbed me like that."

Bucky had a look of pure rage in his eyes. It was a powerful look; he could burn entire cities with it. "That is absolutely disgusting; you shouldn't have to put up with punks like that."

In spite of the serious topic of conversation, Andrea raised an eyebrow and scoffed. "'Punks,' huh? What, were you born in the sixties?"

The surprise on his face was so genuine that for a moment, she thought he was a lot older than he looked. It lasted only a moment, though, before Bucky cleared his throat and continued eating. "You're just a couple years off."

\--

Sasha (he refused to think of her as Alexandrea or Andrea, because the first was too long and, try as he may, he just couldn't picture her as an Andrea) relocated them to her couch and spent the rest of the morning attempting to piece together all the little things about him that he was not so forthcoming about, and it nearly drove him insane. Firing off question after question, she was relentless in her search for details. The questions about his childhood were easy enough; he'd read that he'd lived his entire life out in Brooklyn, at least remembered that his birthday had been May 6th, 1917 (he'd decided it would be better to tell her he was born in 1988 - no need to confuse her ideas of what a ninety-six year old man should look like) and told her that he had family in Russia to get away with his fluency in the language.

The last question was what made him lose his shit.

"Why... why would I have a favorite color?" In the back of his mind it was clear that he once did. Something along the lines of green, maybe, but for some reason he wouldn't say it. Having a favorite color was unnecessary and childish.

So, of course, Sasha's answer was something like, "Why the hell wouldn't you? Come on, man, everyone's got one. Like, mine? Mine's purple." It was amusing, to say the least.

"Why purple? If I may ask."

He expected her to say something sappy, like how it was her grandmother's favorite color, or because purple was the color of the early morning sky. Instead, what he got was, "Because purple's rad as _fuck_."

Such a charming girl Sasha was. Perhaps when everything died down and no one was trying to figure out the whereabouts of the Winter Soldier, he'd try and find her again. If not for her sarcasm, then for her riveting conversational skills.

At three in the afternoon, Bucky realized he'd spent the better part of his day talking to this young college student. How she'd managed to distract him for so long, he hadn't the slightest idea. Perhaps he just enjoyed the company of someone similar to what he used to surround himself with; as he recalled, there were many, many attempts he'd made at 'going steady' with a girl.

This one was different, though, just someone to possibly maintain a sort of friendship. If that, even. Sure, he'd saved Sasha and she'd been kind to him, but could he really afford sticking around in Brooklyn just because of her? Bucky's hometown was the first place they'd look for him. It would be best not to push his luck.

Bucky, after Sasha excused herself from the bathroom, stood and quietly made his way toward the spare bedroom he'd slept in. It looked the same as it had before; a small, plain room with beige walls and a shaggy carpet. It was almost painfully obvious that this was a guest room.

Last night he'd noticed the lack of decoration in the room, but had not seen the single picture frame resting on the nightstand beside the bed. Drawing forward and gently picking it up, Bucky observed it studiously. A young, small boy with dark blonde hair and blue eyes is grinning at the camera, an air of playfulness about his posture. Beside him, nearly an entire head shorter is a girl with brown skin and relaxed waves that the boy had his arm thrown around. It was almost impossible to believe that this was Sasha's younger self; everything about the young girl in the picture screamed timidity and hesitance, the shy smile she gave only reinforcing those traits. Still, though, the gentle upturn to the nose was the same, as was the pointed chin. It was definitely Sasha.

"That's my brother and me when I was ten," Sasha said, padding into the room and announcing her presence with her words. Even if she hadn't spoken, Bucky would have heard her anyway. She had a bad habit of stepping heavily, which he found interesting, as she was, after all, a dance major. "That was a good day for our family."

He smiled. "You don't look much like your brother," he stated. Not exactly something he had to point out; Sasha could have had a different father, or a different mother, or she could be adopted. If he remembered correctly, it used to be a belief of his that genetics and DNA didn't make a family.

Sasha shook her head, looking up at Bucky without batting an eye. That meant that she wasn't upset, which was good; he hadn't broached on a sensitive subject. "No, I wouldn't. I'm adopted." It almost broke his composure, how casually she admitted to it. Then again, maybe she didn't think it to be such a big deal.

"His name's Calix," she told him, looking at the picture over Bucky's metal shoulder. Her nose was inches away from his arm, and she was close enough that her breath fogged it up slightly. "Not that you asked, but whatever. How come you came in here?"

He didn't want to say it, and he was surprised at how badly he wished he could forget about leaving, but knew it had to happen. "Listen, Sasha... I need to get out of here." There was no beating around the bush, no dragging the conversation out. He said what he had to and held firmly to it.

The brunette tilted her head to the side, then took a moment and seated herself on the edge of the bed. "Like, you gotta get home?"

"Yeah, exactly." And by home, he meant a motel room that he paid for with pickpocketed money. "I'm sorry; I wouldn't have left without saying goodbye."

"It's okay, Bucky. You can, uh, borrow some of Calix's clothes since you don't have anything else here that's clean."

"Thank you."

The two of them fell into silence for a moment, and Bucky was unsure of what to do. Eventually he just walked over to the closet and surveyed his options. He pulled out a pair of jeans, a black t-shirt, and a charcoal colored jacket. After he'd selected his outfit, he left to change in the bathroom, then returned to the bedroom where Andrea wast waiting to give her back the borrowed pajamas.

"Do you want me to call a taxi?" Her voice was soft and sounded a tad regretful. Was she sad to see him go?

"No, I can walk, but thank you." Bucky sat beside Sasha on the mattress. For a moment, he didn't know what he should say to her. He knew she didn't want to see him go; he wasn't sure why, because she'd known him less than a day, but he understood. "Your kindness is astounding. There should be more people in the world like you."

"You're just saying that," Sasha mumbled. She remained unable to help the smile on her face. "See you around, I guess?"

He didn't plan to see much of her, in truth. In fact, he planned to get out of Brooklyn as soon as he could. Still, while knowing this, he smiled and said, "Of course. See you around, Sasha." And then he stood and made his way out of the room, then the apartment.

Except, he wasn't really going to leave; not yet, anyway. No, he'd stay in Brooklyn perhaps just a little while longer. Who knew? Within another week, Sasha would probably need him to fend off another attacker in a different alley.

At least, that was what he told himself.


	3. While Being Pursued

Steve Rogers was in town.

It wouldn't have been a problem in itself if he was there simply to revisit his hometown of Brooklyn, if he'd come to the city simply because he'd wanted to reminisce of his life before the super soldier serum had been injected into him. If it had been that easy, Bucky wouldn't have had to worry, but as it turned out, he didn't have much weight on the side of luck. There was only one reason Steve Rogers would return to Brooklyn so soon after what happened between him and the Winter Soldier. He was trying to locate Bucky.

At first, Bucky immediately wanted to hightail it out of New York as soon as he possibly could. Maybe get to an airport or a bus stop and just buy the first ticket that was available. It would be an adventure; he always did like adventures. Perhaps running from Captain America would be one. What did he have to lose?

The answer, coincidentally, had just walked up to him and asked to take his order.

It was early evening on a Friday, and his hunger for something better than a motel had to offer drew him into the city. Brooklyn was a strange place to him; it was neither familiar, as one's hometown should have been, nor comforting. Although, with all the bright flashy lights and billboards and masses of people, he supposed he wouldn't have been able to find his way around from what he remembered of the city if he tried. 2014 Brooklyn seemed to be way different from 1940 Brooklyn.

This was how he'd managed to find out that Steve Rogers was searching for him. Bucky had been walking down the street, attempting to keep away from anyone he passed. He didn't have to try too hard; it seemed that many people found a man with slightly longer than normal hair and anything less than a smile on his face intimidating. Whatever. It kept them away from him when he didn't want to be touched.

Farther down the street, near the corner crosswalk, was a man with dark brown skin and a way of carrying himself that looked vaguely familiar. Even with the distance between them, Bucky could still hear the conversation he was having while on the phone. "Nah, man, I don't see him anywhere. Well, no, but the picture you gave me to go off of is kind of outdated. I'm looking for a dude with blue eyes and short hair, and-"

He paused for a moment, and Bucky slowed his pace. The familiarity was not a good thing; if Bucky even vaguely remembered this man, either he'd been a prior mission, or an assistant to a prior mission. "Long hair? Oh, come on, Steve, seriously? This entire time I thought I was looking for a guy with short hair!"

Steve. Steve Rogers had an accomplice in Brooklyn, New York, searching for a man with blue eyes and long hair. Not a very clear description, but it was enough to send the message across: Bucky had a search party out for him.

"Hang on man, give me a sec," the brown skinned man adjusted his stance. He must've been getting poor cell reception. "Okay, what were you saying? A guy down the street from me?"

Every part of Bucky's body went into a very stiff state. Slowly, so, so slowly, he turned his head a minuscule amount to the right and scanned the area. At first he saw nothing out of the ordinary; just a few buildings lining the pathway of the downtown area. But then, at the top of one of the buildings, a bright glint caught his eye, and it didn't take a ninety-six year old assassin with extremely accurate vision to see that the colors of the round, reflective object were that of the American flag. Captain America was what he was looking at, and he was staring right back.

The fight or flight response shifted into high gear, and as Bucky really didn't need a repeat of the battle they'd had between the two of them on the Hydra air ship, flight won him over. Turning and looking the buildings over for an easy escape, he spared one last glance at Captain America, then ran. There really wasn't any reason to be less than fast about it.

He didn't need to turn around to know that the man with brown skin was pursuing him, in the same way that he didn't need to glance to his left to see that there was a figure topped with blond hair running in the same direction as well. Perhaps it would have been less obvious if he'd continued on his path and just passed the man like he would have originally. Unfortunately, his time away from acting as a super soldier left his escapist skills a bit out of practice.

Bucky made his route as evasive as he could, taking a left, running through oncoming traffic, then ducking through an alley on his right. He managed to lose the man behind him, but Steve Rogers was hopping from rooftop to rooftop and at times, even on cars. "Bucky!" he'd yell, and it would take Bucky several seconds to shake off that tone. It used to be that he'd run head first for Steve Rogers when help was needed; his gut instinct said so.

This time, though, he'd need to ignore his gut instinct. Hell, he'd been doing it for decades at this point.

Cutting through another alley and realizing he'd managed to end up on a street lined with many shops, Bucky ran close to the buildings and ducked inside a restaurant after counting to ten. He stuck close to the door for a moment to let his breathing return to normal; nothing more suspicious than a man in Brooklyn entering a place of business out of breath as though he'd been running from something.

How Steve Rogers had managed to locate him before Hydra, Bucky had absolutely no clue. Perhaps, with the very recent death of Alexander Pierce, Hydra was without a leader, and therefore was slightly unconcerned with returning the Winter Soldier to their arsenal. However, after S.H.I.E.L.D. had been disbanded leaving Steve Rogers with no obligations to his country? Well, it more than likely gave him a lot of free time.

Bucky moved away from the door after a brief glance outside and inched closer to the 'wait to be seated' sign. No point in fogging up the glass while looking for his pursuer; it would be better to get away from the door, keep himself out of immediate sight. And, well, food had been the reason he'd been traipsing around town in the first place, hadn't it?

A blonde female in her late thirties greeted him with a wary smile and told him to follow her. Luckily, she'd placed him in the far back of the restaurant, which meant no windows and no immediate people at the tables surrounding him. That would do well not only for his particular situation, but also his nerves. There would be no need to worry about the way he positioned himself, no need to worry about whether people were looking or not. It was a small freedom in the public eye, one that he didn't come across very often, and he felt a twitch of gratefulness.

"How are you doing today, sir?" A feminine voice questioned as it drew closer to him. The familiarity of the tone was welcome; she'd help distract his mind from the chase that had just occurred, and anyway, he'd been keeping tabs on her for the past week or so. It would be nice to talk to her again.

Sasha's gaze was held by the little notepad in her hand, and she only looked up when he hadn't answered. "Oh," she gasped in surprise, her eyebrows raising. A slow smile curled onto his lips; Sasha wasn't afraid of him as most people seemed to be, but he did manage to surprise her. Bucky would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it. "Wow, hey. How have you been?"

Bucky shrugged, lacing his hands together and resting his elbows on the table. It was easy enough to catch her full attention with these simple movements. The first time she truly looked at him was enough to confirm that she found him attractive, and though it wasn't something he'd had to think about for the past seventy or so years, it was still interesting to consider what it would be like to spend more time with her. "I've been decent. Haven't had to save anymore unsuspecting damsels from alleyways, so the last few days have been kind of a bore."

It wasn't easy for her to hide the smile that instantly sprung up to her mouth, and she only managed to conceal half of it. "Haha, very funny. I told you, it's not a habit of mine."

This comment only added to his unusually playful mood. "That you did, but who said I was referring to you?"

He considered the blush on her face a reward in and of itself. Particularly, this sort of conversation felt familiar to Bucky, so he assumed that he must have talked to girls in this fashion a lot. Even the ones he was just friends with.

Sasha rolled her eyes and flipped her hair back over her shoulder, revealing the little name tag with 'Andrea' handwritten in looping script. She'd decorated the plastic around it with purple smiley face stickers, and it was so adorably childish that Bucky has to take a moment to process it. "Alrighty. Do you know what you want?"

"A burger and coffee would be great, thank you."

She scribbled this down. Then, "Just coffee? You don't want, like, creamer? Technically we aren't a coffee shop or anything, but I know how to make mochas. We have raspberry flavoring if you're into that, which I am." The question would be easier to answer if he knew what the hell she was talking about.

He didn't want to ask. It seemed like a 'mocha' was something that everyone should know about, but it wasn't something he had had the luxury of coming across while assassinating his targets. Surely it contained coffee to some degree; otherwise she wouldn't have asked if he wanted to switch the order out. Still, Bucky didn't know exactly what it was, and if there was one person he'd be comfortable asking, it was Sasha.

Finally, swallowing his pride, Bucky asked, "What's a mocha, exactly?"

Sasha raised an eyebrow. "You're telling me you've lived in New York your entire life but you've never had a mocha? I'm gonna get you one." Then she walked away, sending him a mischievous glance over her shoulder before disappearing completely from sight.

Bucky wasn't kept waiting for very long. Sasha came back quickly, a tall cup in one hand, a plate in the other, and a determined look on her face. Setting both down in front of him on the table, she seated herself in the unoccupied chair across from him and stared intently. "Okay. Go on and drink it."

He was sure that what she was doing was against her job's protocol, but elected to humor her anyway. He picked the cup up with his right hand (he tried to use his right hand more than his left, as the metal arm made him feel stupidly self conscious) and was surprised to find that it was cold. "There's ice in this," he stated plainly, shooting Sasha a confused look. "Why would you put ice in coffee?"

An almost pained look crossed her face. "James Buchanan Barnes, _please_ tell me you weren't one of those sheltered children whose parents never let them drink caffeine. You've had coffee before, right?"

"Yeah, the straight black kind. Coffee's not supposed to be cold."

It would appear to anyone not partaking in the conversation that Bucky had just suggested to Sasha that the two of them go and commit mass homicide at an orphanage. That was how horrified her facial expression made what he'd just said out to be. "Drink the coffee, Bucky. The unsweetened life is no way to live."

He snorted, but raised the cup to his lips and took a sip. The taste of sweetness exploded on his tongue, layering his mouth in a film of raspberry flavoring. It accumulated at the back of his throat, though, causing the taste to linger. The unmistakable bitterness of coffee was smothered underneath it all. His initial reaction was to cough and try swallowing the taste down, but it didn't work.

Bucky looked up to see Sasha's big, curious brown eyes. There was laughter in them, and she could tell exactly what he thought of her mocha. "That bad, huh?"

He shook his head. "Since when is coffee sickeningly sweet?"

She shrugged. "Since when is it anything but?"

They talked for a little while longer, playfully arguing over the way coffee was supposed to taste. Bucky tried to convince Sasha that it should be bitter and black, but she was adamant that it shouldn't be anything less than sweet and sugary. He knew full well that she could get in trouble if another employee saw her sitting with him while she should be working, but several had passed without batting an eye. Perhaps they were used to her antics by that point.

It grew later as they conversed, and before Bucky knew it, it was fairly dark outside. "It's late," he said, still fairly surprised at how the time had slipped away. It seemed as though just a few minutes ago, he'd been evading Steve Rogers. "I should probably head out."

Sasha smiled a little wistfully, standing once she saw him do so. "Okay. It was nice seeing you again."

He smiles at her and nods. She was right, of course; it was nice for the two of them to talk again. During the week that he'd been watching her, he'd wanted to at least say hello or walk past to try and get her attention. Every time, though, he caught himself and thought better of it. There was no need to act on such strange whims.

Saying a final goodbye, he walked away and was about to exit the restaurant when he heard his name called from farther back. Turning, Bucky saw Sasha half sprinting to catch up with him. The contrast between the way she moved at different speeds was astounding. While walking, she stepped heavily and almost clumsily; when running, though, she was light footed and graceful, a bit more careful about where she stepped. Once she finally reached him, she rocked up onto the balls of her feet, then back down to her heels.

"Sorry," Sasha said immediately, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, "I just remembered that I, um, wanted to ask you something." Was it his imagination, or did she sound nervous? "So, I know we really don't know each other all that well, but I've got this dance thing tomorrow night at the concert hall in Manhattan. Maybe you wanna come?"

A dance recital. She wanted him to attend her dance recital.

There would be a lot of people there. A college dance recital was an event that he imagined would bring out quite a few audience members. Steve Rogers could possibly be there; it wasn't a very large chance, but it still existed. Aside from that, there could be an abundance of Hydra agents as well, and he wasn't sure if that was something he'd like to chance. And, besides, when did an ex assassin ever do something so mundane?

But then a memory came back to him, one from long ago. A time when he enjoyed stupid, trivial things like dancing for the hell of it and reading for pleasure and playing sports. Music, art, poetry. Not that he had ever really been one for poetry, but there were a few select pieces that he'd enjoyed. The dancing, though; that had been his favorite. Taking girls out dancing, dancing by himself, teaching Steve how to do it. Dancing had once been his passion.

So, it was that small burst of memory that prodded him to nod his head and grin. "Yeah, okay," he answered Sasha, crossing his arms and giving a nonchalant shrug. "I'll go."

The beaming expression she allowed to shine on her face was almost too radiant for a mere human being. "Great! Thank you so much! I'll see you tomorrow, Bucky!" With that, she flounced away, still light on her feet. Bucky shook his head out of amusement and then left the restaurant.

-

From the top of the building, Sam watched James Barnes exit the restaurant with his guard down. It wouldn't take much to just catch up with him and attempt conversation, but somehow he didn't think that would go over too well. Actually, it would probably end with physical assault and James escaping and clearing the city.

Steve had asked him to scope out the street and try and find Bucky while he made a call to Natasha and tried to get her to agree to come to Brooklyn. Finding Bucky was easy enough; he hadn't really attempted to hide once he got inside that restaurant. If Sam didn't know any better, he'd say that it had been because the girl he'd been talking to for the majority of his stay had distracted him. That couldn't be it, though, because there was no way Steve's seventy-years-of-experience assassin best friend would be so careless on account of a pretty girl.

Taking his phone out of his pocket and following Bucky with his eyes, Sam dialed Steve's number and held the phone to his ear. "Hello?" Steve's voice answered after the first ring.

"Hey, Steve. Falcon's got eyes on your man." Sam snorted at his own use of the code name. It was a point he made to always refer to himself as Falcon while out doing stuff like this. Steve found it mildly amusing at best and annoying at worst.

At the moment, though, it was as if he hadn't even heard Sam's use of the name. "You do? Tell me what's up. Where has he been the whole time?"

"This little cafe sort of place. It's kind of a whole in the wall." He wondered for a second if he should mention the girl. After all, Bucky had been chatting her up for the better part of his evening. Sam figured he may as well just go ahead and say it, and so he said, "He's been sitting with a girl for the past few hours."

"A girl?" Steve's attention was instantly caught, and at first, Sam didn't get why. "Wait, wait, what's she look like?"

It took a lot for Sam to hold back the wise crack that was on the tip of his tongue as he looked across the street and back into the restaurant through the windows. The same girl moved fluidly between tables, trays balanced in her arms. "Less than average height. Brown skin; probably biracial if you want to get technical about it. Brown hair, too. She's a pretty one, from what I can see."

There was silence on the other end of the cell phone for a moment. Then, "A short brunette. Sounds like Bucky's kind of girl." Steve sounded almost expectant when he said it, in the way that it would be just like Bucky to make an escape and then settle down to talk to a pretty girl for a while. Sam couldn't say that he disagreed with the guy's style.

"Alright, listen man, we got a choice here. Bucky's about to round a corner and head off to wherever it is he's about to go. I can either tail him or wait for the girl to finish her shift and tail her home so that we can ask her questions later on. What are you wanting me to do?"

The answer he got wasn't the one he'd been expecting. "Let Bucky go and tail the girl. Don't bug her tonight, though; just figure out where she lives. If I know Bucky, he's bound to meet up with her again."

Sam nodded even though he knew Steve couldn't see it. "Yeah, alright. I'll come and find you once I'm done. Any luck with Nat?"

"Not yet, but she'll come around soon. And thanks for sticking this out with me, Sam. It really means a lot."

Sam shrugged and watched as Bucky rounded the corner, finally leaving his line of sight. Then he turned back to watch the girl disappear through the kitchen doors of the restaurant. It might have been a trick of his mind, but she almost looked familiar. At this distance though, he couldn't quite tell. "Don't mention it," he told Steve. Then he disconnected the phone call and waited for the girl to leave the restaurant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad to see that everyone is liking the story so far! Please let me know what you all think, encouragements really mean a lot to me!


	4. Good Intentions

"So, give it to me straight. Did you sleep with him?"

Andrea's eyes were practically ready to fall out of her head. While that didn't happen, her leg did slide off of the bench that she'd been using to stretch. "Oh my god, Nova! I barely know him!"

Nova smirked as she pulled her blonde hair up and into a bun, managing to finger comb every stray piece of hair into place. "Well, yeah, but that's never stopped anyone before." Realizing what she'd just said, Nova paused and looked at Andrea. At that point in the conversation, most people would've apologized for going there; she only took it further, laughing as she did so. "Except for you, of course. But you're telling me that this guy - who you said was like, crazy hot - pretty much carried you home and played nurse and you didn't pull him into bed immediately? Have I taught you nothing?"

Sometimes Andrea wondered how it was that she became friends with Nova. They'd met through dance in high school, and while she'd kept all the other girls at arms length, she'd instantly clicked with Nova. Maybe it was the way that Nova wasn't afraid to be straightforward and blunt and, sometimes, downright crude around her. All Andrea knew was that Nova was her very best friend and nothing would change it.

"Right, well I haven't slept with anybody yet, and my first time is certainly not going to be with a dude I've only known for, like, a week." She let her brown eyes meet Nova's green ones and smiled bashfully. "No matter how totally gorgeous his eyes are."

Flailing her arms out of pure helplessness, Nova gave a sort of agonized cry. "No, you can't do that! No fair, no fair, no fair! Either you describe to me in full detail what this guy looks like right now or you stop talking!"

"You'll see him tonight, don't worry. If he stays long enough for me to catch him after the performance, I'll introduce you." She hoped that would be the case. Bucky seemed to be pretty elusive. In the week between the first and second time they'd met, Andrea hadn't seen him once. Of course, she had to take into account that Brooklyn was a large city with a fair sized population; it was a slim chance that she'd be able to just run into him on the street.

For some reason, though, Andrea wanted badly to spend more time with Bucky. It couldn't just be because she found him attractive. While it was true that she did, there was more to it than that. Bucky Barnes was mysterious and withdrawn and just the right amount of creepy. She wanted to get to know him; she wanted to be his friend.

Finishing her stretch and pulling her coat tighter over her dance wear, she waited for Nova to finish up pinning her hair so that the two of them could walk to the backstage area together. A thrill went through her once they arrived. The music for the dance that was going on at the moment (a contemporary piece, though the song was quite jazzy) was blaring through the speakers at the edge of the stage, and from the curtained wing, Andrea could see all the audience members.

"I can't tell if he's here," she admitted, loosely looping her arm through Nova's. "He said he'd come, but what if he didn't feel like it?"

"Oh my god, please." Nova's voice was slightly lost in the saxophone solo. "From what it sounded like, this dude was all over the invite. You might not have wanted to sleep with him, but he could want to sleep with you."

Only Nova would be daring enough to say something like that while the song was ending for the performer on stage. Always embarrassingly loud, her friend wasn't too conscious of the volume settings on her vocal chords. Andrea wondered why Nova hadn't gone to school for choral music; it would have suited her just as well as dancing did.

Before Andrea could make some sort of sassy remark, her eyes caught sight of a tall, crazy muscular man with blonde hair that was made to seem even brighter by the dark suit he wore. He watched the stage with amazement, eyes trained on the next performer as soon as they walked on and the music started up. It was hard to place him at first, but the more she stared, the more it clicked in her mind.

Her arm tightened around her best friend's. "Hey," she whispered sharply, trying to get her attention. An excited grin bloomed on her face and Nova's annoyance was cut short when she said, "Steve Rogers is in the front row. _Captain America_ came to watch our performance!"

The two of them, giggling like the excited college girls they were, peaked around the curtain together and unabashedly stared Steve Rogers down. Why America's most renowned and only successful super soldier was at their silly college dance recital was something they couldn't quite figure out. Not that they minded, of course. Andrea had always put him down as her answer to the 'if you could have a conversation with any dead person, who would it be' questions, and had wanted to pretty much track him down and thank him when she found out he was alive.

All of a sudden, Andrea's name had been called out on the speakers; it was her turn to perform.

"Oh my god," she whispered, the nervousness weighing down on her chest. "I'm gonna be sick."

"You'll do fine," Nova reassured, nudging her forward slightly, "go on and rock out."

Andrea shrugged off her coat, handed it to Nova, took a deep breath, and walked onstage. Whatever happened, she hoped that she'd do well, because now there were two people she was trying to impress.

\--

Mesmerizing was a not a word Bucky typically used to describe things. Whether it be a girl he had been dating in the 1900s or the feeling he got after every mind wipe Alexander Pierce had ordered, nothing was ever mesmerizing. Hypnotic, maybe, or even captivating, but not mesmerizing. Never that word.

Except, she was. The way Sasha bent onstage, the grace with which she turned and rolled and how fluidly she moved her limbs, it was all truly and absolutely mesmerizing. It was the only word that could adequately describe her. God, the way she moved - he hadn't ever seen anything like it. The only people that could be more graceful than her were the assassins he'd seen throughout his life. Other than that, no one could quite compare.

The music coupled with Sasha's dancing was so relaxing and calm that it managed to ease his mind. No longer was he concerned with scoping out the room (which he'd done before hand, so it didn't matter that he was distracted now) or making sure there were no Hydra agents that he knew present. It almost felt like he could pretend to be a normal human being, and he wished that it would never end.

Bucky hadn't been all too sure whether he should actually attend the performance. Sure, he'd agreed to Sasha's invitation with hardly a second thought, but it had been a snap decision in all actuality. In the end, though, he hadn't seen any reason why he shouldn't go. It was just a college dance recital, and even if he didn't want to admit it, he found Sasha intriguing.

His interest steadily rose as the dance went on, and when it was finally over, he stood to clap enthusiastically. In his haste, he'd been the first to stand; Sasha managed to spot him before the other audience members joined him, and she smiled and waved once she realized who Bucky was. With a subtle tilt of her head, she motioned for him to meet her backstage. Deciding he may as well greet and praise her for her routine, he headed through the aisle and to one of the stage doors that was easier to access.

It was easy enough to find her; her dance clothing had been dark red and sparkly, and she was bouncing around with a blonde girl that was slightly taller than her. She must have been a friend from school with the way they acted around each other.

Once Sasha caught sight of him, her smile grew even wider and she waved. "Bucky!" she called, eyes bright with happiness. "Hey, you made it!"

As he drew closer, he noticed that she stood on tiptoe. It must have been something she did when she was excited. "Of course. I told you I would. You did amazing, Sasha."

The blonde girl, apparently just as excited as Sasha was, clasped her friend's hand in her own. "See? I told you you'd be great!" Her eyes then wandered over to Bucky, and he found her sweeping him up and down with her eyes. "Hey. My name's Nova."

Inclining his head kindly, he answered, "I'm James."

There were several things he already had pegged down about Nova. Of the two friends, she was more eccentric, which was a bit frightening to think about considering how high Sasha's energy levels could get. She was also right handed, just above five foot five, and favored her left leg - probably there had been some childhood injury to the right one. If she was in the same year as Sasha at school, that made her either nineteen or twenty. There seemed to be nothing even remotely harmful about her, so he decided that he could relax.

Sasha looked between him and Nova, then settled for resting her gaze on him. All three of them fell into silence; unfortunately, it wasn't the comfortable kind, and so he had to endure several moments of it while he floundered for something to say. Eventually, he settled for, "Your dancing. It was _krasivyy_."

The interested expression on her face was the one that he'd been hoping for. Really, the only reason he'd used the Russian word was because he knew she liked hearing the language. "Hang on, let me guess this time," she requested. "My dancing was pretty?"

"Beautiful," he corrected, "pretty is _dovol'no_. You were close, though."

Sasha's smile grew touched, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Nova looking suspiciously triumphant. "Thank you so much! I worked on that routine for hours and even though it was my favorite one that I've ever done, I'm sort of glad to be done with it."

Nova's name was suddenly called out, and the short blonde gave an excited little gasp. "I'm up! See you two in a few minutes!" With that, she bounced away to perform her routine.

Sasha grabbed Bucky's right hand and pulled him towards the edge of the wing so they could get a better view of Nova; this was an action he'd not been prepared for. It was lucky that she hadn't grabbed the metal one, because he instinctively clenched it into a fist at the unwarranted contact. For a few moments it was a struggle to calm down and to remind himself that, no, Sasha was not going to harm him.

After he got over the sudden flash of red he saw, he focused on Sasha'a hand. It was small in his, and warm and smooth. Bucky couldn't even remember the last time he'd touched a girl he hadn't been intent to kill. If he thought about it, it was kind of... nice.

"Look at her go," Sasha whispered excitedly. Bucky managed to tear his attention away from her long enough to observe Nova cartwheeling. Where Sasha's routine had been slow and graceful, Nova's was fast paced and wild. The differences between the two were astounding, once again attesting to the contrast between the girls themselves. "She's so good."

Was it his imagination, or did he detect a note of insecurity in her voice? "She's doing well. You did, too." Her eyes wandered over to his face and he pretended that he didn't notice her staring happily at him out of the corner of his eyes. The compliment was sincere in every way, and it appeared that Sasha recognized that.

They stood together, watching for a few more moments. Somewhere in the back of his mind it registered that he was still holding Sasha's hand. At first he was going to pull it away; was it acceptable for him to be holding the hand of a girl he'd had maybe three conversations with? Then again, she'd been the one to initiate the action. And he did enjoy being able to freely touch another person, whether he admitted to it or not. He elected to leave their hands together, not just because he didn't want Sasha to be hurt by it, but also because he liked it.

"Hey, listen," she started as the music began to slow down, "after we're all done here, Nova and I were going to go and get some food. Not really sure where, but we'll figure it out. You wanna come, maybe?"

By then, he figured he'd be used to saying yes to Sasha. Something about her made him want to keep her happy, and the way he saw it, it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Still, though, the first time he'd stopped to take her home had been a risk, tracking her for a week quite literally just because he could had been dangerous for her, and associating with her while he knew perfectly well that at least two people were tracking him could have put her into a situation of vulnerability.

Bucky knew he should say no. He'd come to this recital because Sasha had asked him to, and so she wouldn't push him to eat if he didn't want it. Saying no wouldn't hurt Sasha's feelings, and really, if he kept spending time with her so constantly, then someone was bound to hurt her.

In the end, he decided that his pleasure (which he wasn't even supposed to have, because, well, he was a war machine) was not worth Sasha's safety. "Actually, I should get going." It wasn't much and he was sure she'd find the answer insufficient, but there was nothing he could do about it.

The expression on Sasha's face, despite his reasoning, did grow slightly hurt. Nobody else would be able to tell because the shift was so minuscule; her eyebrows drew slightly more together and the left corner of her mouth tilted down. It almost looked as if it was a mask of indifference she'd begun to construct many years ago. "Oh, uh, okay. Are you sure?"

For a moment he wanted to change his mind. Then, he reminded himself that her ability to sway him so easily, an ability a girl he'd known for a little more than a week shouldn't have, was the entire reason he couldn't. "I'm sure. I'm sorry. Thank you for inviting me here tonight and please tell Nova that I'm sorry I couldn't stay until the end of her performance. Good night, Sasha."

Bucky had to give it to her. Even after he'd completely shut her down, she still managed to smile and shrug before wrapping an arm around him. This caught him by surprise as well, though his initial reaction was not quite as violent as it had been when she'd grabbed his hand.

"Okay, well... thanks for coming tonight. Good night." After she released him, he offered her one last, small smile before walking away. It wasn't until he'd cleared the building that he experienced something he hadn't in a long time: guilt.

\--

"Yeah, okay, he didn't come to dinner and it sucks," Nova said from across the table, munching on a french fry and looking up at Andrea, "but still. He was totally staring you down tonight. I think he likes you, babe."

Andrea shrugged and brought the straw of her milkshake to her lips. "If he liked me, he would've come out to dinner with us. He wouldn't have just rejected the offer and then practically run out of the building." She'd tried so hard not to overthink why Bucky had declined to come, but the harder she tried, the more she thought about it and the more upset she became. "God, he probably thinks I'm an idiot."

Nova's eyes grew wider. "Uh, okay, holy shit. You're pretty down on yourself. What's up? You're only ever like this when... oh my god, no. Tell me she's not coming."

Andrea grimaced and rested her chin on her hand. "That obvious, huh?" Of course it was; she had been allowing the news to affect her mood the entire day. "Yeah, it's that time of the year again: mother dearest is paying me a visit."

"Great. When's she coming? You know, just so I can put it on my calendar to stay clear from your apartment."

An unladylike snort escaped from Andrea. "Oh, please, like my mother would actually stay in a two bedroom Brooklyn apartment. No, she's coming next month and renting a room in a hotel. Even told me not to prepare the guest room, 'not that I would bother anyways.' Ugh, maybe that's why he didn't want to come out with us. Maybe my attitude was affecting his mood."

At this, Nova laughed and replied, "The only moods he seems to have possession of are frightening stoicalness and polite intrigue."

"Sexily polite intrigue."

"Yeah, he had that going for him, I'll give him that. You were right, too; his eyes were to die for."

"Oh my god, right? And, like, did you see how totally built he was? It's crazy!" Andrea enjoyed that she could talk about these things with Nova. It was one of the only perks that came out of Bucky declining the dinner offer; they could totally talk about him all night long.

Nova smirked. "Seriously, if that guy had run into an alley to save my ass, I would have done everything you didn't do."

The two friends continued to laugh and talk for awhile. As the night went on, Andrea found herself perking up again. It was always easy for Nova to cheer her up, even if her mother's impending visit was weighing her down. She's gotten Andrea through a lot since becoming her best friend.

Two people walked up to the girls' table, stopping them in the middle of their conversation. Andrea immediately recognized one of them as Steve Rogers and did everything she possibly could to keep her composure in place. Nova, glancing between him and his friend, allowed the smile on her face to grow flirty and inviting.

It was the man standing beside Steve that spoke first. "Ladies," he greeted each of them in turn. Andrea liked his smile; it made him seem even warmer than he naturally did by just standing there. "I'm Sam Wilson. I'd introduce my friend Steve here, but you already seem to know who he is."

Steve rolled his eyes and smiled, elbowing Sam in the side. They looked as close and companionable as Andrea felt she was with Nova; she wondered how long they'd known each other. "I'm Steve Rogers. We really don't mean to impose, but do you mind if we join you for a bit?"

"Oh, no, not at all," Nova answered, gesturing with her chin towards the empty chairs beside each of them, "please, have a seat. I'm Nova."

They followed suit, Sam sitting next to Andrea and Steve sitting next to Nova. "So," Steve started. His eyes shifted between the two of them, but ultimately rested on Andrea. Needless to say, she wasn't quite sure what to make of it. What did one say when the super soldier they knew practically everything about sat across from them at a dinner table and attempted small talk? "We, uh, we saw the dance recital the two of you were in. Alexandrea, was it?"

She smiled in response and nodded. "Yeah. You can call me Andrea, though, but I've been told that the name doesn't really suit me, so... I guess whatever you're cool with." It didn't feel right to give them the option of calling her Sasha, and, anyways, they'd probably be just as confused as she had been the first time she'd heard it. Russian diminutive or not, Sasha was nowhere near Alexandrea.

Beside her, Sam chuckled. "A girl who's cool with personalized nicknames; I like it. Can I call you toe tapper?"

It was so easy to laugh at that. "Oh, well, you could, but I'm not sure it'll stick."

All four of them went on talking for awhile, and Andrea noticed that they weren't really offering up much about themselves. Actually, the way it was going, it almost seemed like they were politely interrogating her. They were subtle about it, talking to Nova as well as herself, but every now and then they'd pop a few extra questions towards Andrea. What school she went to, how old she was, where she worked, what she planned to do once out of college, if she had any family. All the questions had been friendly, but if Steve Rogers was subtly attempting to pry into her life? Something was definitely up.

Eventually, Andrea and Nova began to tire. They'd both silently agreed with each other not to voice it (because, well, they were at a restaurant with Steve Rogers and a really cool dude named Sam Wilson who was probably just as awesome) but come eleven o'clock, Andrea's yawns began to take over. At first, she covered them with her hands. They soon grew bigger, though, and was no longer able to mask just how completely exhausted she was.

Sam noticed this and laughed. It seemed that laughing was something he did a lot. "Alright, Steve, we're running the poor girls ragged." He turned to Andrea and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "We should let you get home. You're practically falling asleep in your seat."

"I'm not even that-" Her sentence was cut off by her own yawn.

Nova chimed in, face covered in a sleepy smile. "Come on, girl, let's get you home."

As they stood from their seats, joined by Steve and Sam as Rey walked the girls to the entrance of the restaurant, Steve smiled at the two of them and gave them a slight dip of his head. "Good night, ladies. Be safe in getting home, okay?"

They nodded and agreed and Sam shook both of their hands. "Have a great rest of the night." They turned, and before they were completely out the door, he called, "Toe tapper?"

Andrea looked back, tilting her head and laughing a little at the ridiculous nickname. "Yeah, Sam?"

"Take care of yourself. Good night."

She offered him one last smile, then turned to leave with Nova. Andrea spent the entire taxi ride home trying to figure out why Sam had looked at her with some degree of familiarity, wondering if he was someone she knew but couldn't remember. By the time she and Nova were in her apartment and ready for bed, she let it go. Sleep overtook her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! It's been a little while since the last chapter, but here's the next one! Also, the few words of Russian Bucky speaks in this chapter may or may not be accurate. I don't speak Russian, so I had to look up the translations of the words! Anyways, I hope you enjoy!


	5. Officially A Sort-Of Friendship

A long time ago, Steve Rogers thought the hardest thing in the world for him to accomplish would be to join the military in the fight against the Nazis and settle down with a nice, pretty girl; one that was actually interested in him, not just using him to get to his best friend. Now, after seventy years of an ice induced sleep and another of believing everyone he'd known from the 1940s either dead or senile, he'd changed his mind. Girls looked at him these days, went out of their ways to talk to him or smile at him, and he'd certainly had his fair share of home country defense. But now? Now the hardest thing in the world for him to do was track down the best friend he thought had died.

"Don't worry, man," Sam said on the way back to his place, the two of them having just left the restaurant after bidding Andrea and Nova good night, "he's bound to turn up eventually."

Steve nodded, continuing along the sidewalk. "I'm sure if we just keep on Andrea's trail we'll find him." This assumption had been reassured by their time spent with the two girls. Bucky may have been a seasoned assassin of around seventy or so years with dozens of confirmed kills and specialized skills in things like evasive maneuvers and tracking, but he was still _Bucky_. If Steve had to guess at the one thing that could keep the Winter Soldier around in Brooklyn simply because at one point in his life he'd been James Buchanan Barnes? Well, the cute, energetic brunette girl who loved to dance was most definitely at the top of the list of options.

Sam's interest had also been snagged by the girl. That was something Steve wasn't quite sure about, but he'd seen the way he'd been staring at Andrea. Not exactly an interested gaze - not in the romantic way, at least - but definitely more than polite curiosity. Steve didn't want to push it, though. If Sam wanted to talk about it, then he would, much in the same way that if Steve wanted to talk about Bucky, then he would do it without any prying.

Still. Something was going on.

"So," Sam started up after a few moments of silence, "any luck with Nat?" A subject of free range.

"I wish. The most I got out of her was that she was somewhere in Canada without any specifics on a region. Not quite sure she'll be up for returning to the states anytime soon; ever since the whole thing with the Winter Soldier, she's been pretty elusive." Which wasn't too strange for Natasha, as she had a history of running, but something just seemed off. It bugged Steve beyond belief that he couldn't help her get over whatever it was she was stuck on.

"Doesn't surprise me much. At least we know she can take care of herself, right?" Sam asked as they rounded another corner and walked down the street.

"Right. Just wish I didn't have to call all the time. I feel like I'm bugging her more and more every time."

Sam laughed, shaking his head. "Man, you know how Natasha is. She'll come back eventually; you know she will."

Did he, though? Ever since S.H.I.E.L.D. disbanded, she'd grown quieter and quieter on the radar. At first, she never picked up the phone, claiming to be doing extremely dangerous intel work. Once she could no longer believably pass that off (not that Steve had really believed it much in the first place, because who the hell would she be doing intel work for) she admitted to be doing research on herself, learning things about the home life she'd left behind and had been brainwashed into leaving. Something about the situation reminded him disturbingly of Bucky's.

"You think it's wrong, what I'm doing?" Steve asked, bringing a hand to rub at the back of his neck. "Trying to find Bucky even though he doesn't want to be found, and using Alexandrea to do it?"

It took Sam a second to answer, and Steve didn't miss the careful note in his voice. "No. Sure, Bucky doesn't want to be found, but does he really even know why? If he remembered you right, he'd know you would forgive him." Another pause, and then, "Alexandrea's your best lead. If she's the person that's gonna bring you back to Bucky, then we'll keep watching her. You do what you need to, and I'll be right there with you."

He didn't bother telling Sam how much he appreciated his words; he'd exhausted saying the phrase out loud the first few weeks they'd started their makeshift search party.

\--

"Hey."

The quiet, gentle voice startled Andrea into giving a little hop of surprise. In the restaurant filled with noisy families and the occasional sobbing child, high volume was all she came to expect. So, when kneeling down behind the podium to grab more menus, the soft voice and the gentle touch on her shoulder scared the hell out of her.

Turning her head after a moment to calm herself, she found Bucky staring down at her, an unsure look plastered on his face. It was clear from his posture and the way he clasped his hands behind his back that he'd had to work up the courage to come. At least, that was Andrea's attempt at deducing why he looked the way he did.

"Uh, hi," Andrea replied, standing and looking up at his face. "I can get you a table in a second, I've just gotta run these to a family-"

"That's not why I came."

She waited for him to say more, but he didn't, which only added to her confusion. He wasn't there to eat? It was a restaurant she worked at, after all. What else could he possibly be there for?

Andrea tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "So... what did you come for, then?"

Sighing and looking away from her gaze for a moment, Bucky ran a hand through his unkempt hair. The sight of it brought a little smile to Andrea's face; Bucky was in need of a hair cut. "Look, um... I'm sorry for the way I acted last night. It was rude of me not to accept your invitation."

So. That was what it was about. "Why would you apologize for that?"

He adopted an expression of confusion that she was sure matched her own. "Why wouldn't I? You seemed upset. I'm sorry for upsetting you." Perhaps when she looked down she tipped him off to why this was so strange to her, because he stated, "You're not used to apologies." It wasn't a question.

Andrea shrugged a shoulder. "I'm used to giving them." Bucky stared at her, waiting for her to continue, knowing she had more to say. "I wasn't upset when you said you couldn't go. I was just... It's just, I didn't want to not see you again."

And it was true; she'd been kind of scared that he wouldn't magically run into her again, that he'd just walk away and leave and she'd never know another conversation with Bucky Barnes. That, obviously, hadn't been the outcome, but that wasn't important. What was, however, was figuring out how to save her ass from having just admitted that out loud. It was clear enough from Bucky's face that there was no taking it back; the smirk that had shown up had been almost instantaneous.

"Well, if you still want to, you know, see me, maybe we can work something out." It was impossible to miss the accidental double meaning. There was no time to react to his words, though, because as soon as she felt the first flutter in her stomach, a male voice called her name.

The smile on her face grew a tad bashful. "Okay, I really have to get these menus to that family; they've been waiting for, like, ever. But... my shift ends in fifteen minutes?" Andrea tried not to dwell on the fact that it sounded like a question rather than a statement.

Bucky nodded and gestured towards the door with his chin. "I'll wait outside."

\--

He knew he shouldn't have done it. By allowing himself to return, by putting himself back into the same immediate vicinity as Sasha instead of clearing the city, he was putting her in the way of harm. He knew, _of course_  he knew, and yet... he didn't care.

Saying no to Sasha had been hard. Her face had begged him to go out with her and Nova, and in the back of his mind, something, a sort of foreign thought suggested that it might even be fun. Bucky had denied it, though, had disagreed to give himself that one act of irresponsibility. He'd shown up at her dance recital, had directly associated with her and her friend backstage. By consenting to having dinner with the two, he would have been essentially painting targets on their backs.

Still. He'd gone back to his motel room, had laid on the bed in the quiet darkness, and had felt a strange sense of nothing. Not something akin to the hollowness of the Winter Soldier, though; more like he was without a purpose. He'd done tons of things like that when he was simply James Barnes, had gone to dinner with girls, danced with them, kissed them, and maybe he'd even loved a few of them.

While he was still adamant that he not get too caught up with this particular girl, there wasn't much standing in the way of a careful friendship. He had to stop being so paranoid and just go ahead and spend some time with Sasha, right? Even if the worst came to pass, he could protect her well enough from Hydra agents himself. He needed a friend; god damn it, he owed it to himself, and if he wasn't going to jump back into the Steve Rogers friendship, then maybe he could work up to it with this pretty, eccentric girl from Brooklyn.

The bell of the restaurant door jingled and out stepped Sasha, dressed in what he could see were jeans, a light blue sweater, and sneakers. Certainly not what she'd been wearing whilst working; the only echo of that look was the slightly off center braid she wore her hair in. He couldn't stop himself from pointing it out, mostly because he wanted know how it came to pass. "Outfit change?"

Sasha grinned and nodded, carefully stepping forward on the tips of her toes. "Yeah. Walking back and forth between my apartment and work in my uniform is getting pretty annoying. Between the, ah, street harassment and the fact that it's totally too cold for fucking April, I decided it wouldn't hurt to switch out my clothes before and after work."

He knew what she meant, if only from observation. Brooklyn had always had a tendency to grow abnormally cold when it should be warming up, ever since he was a small child. There was a part of him that wanted to chastise Sasha for wearing minimal layers and thin material, and he wondered where it came from. Which person from his Brooklyn life had he always bugged about staying warm?

"You should have brought a jacket," Bucky informed Sasha, eyeing the blue sweater that clung to her torso. Pretty, yes, but impractical. The poor girl would get some type of cold-borne illness if she wasn't careful. "That's not going to do anything for you."

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Thanks, mom. Can we go?"

He wanted to drop it, but he couldn't. For some reason, Bucky was overly concerned that Sasha would get sick. "Come on. At least take your hair down and cover your neck. That should help a little."

"No, I can't do that, I'm sorry." To emphasize, she tossed the braid over her shoulder so that it ran down her back, falling in between her shoulder blades. "My hair's having kind of a bad day. We're walking now."

If he couldn't convince her, the very least he could do was make her warmer himself. That was the option he opted for, deciding it would cause the least fuss; so, shrugging off the jacket he'd worn himself (because he had come prepared for the weekend torrential downpour of rain, thank you very much), he placed it around Sasha's shoulders and continued walking at her side.

For a moment, she said nothing, and he took it that she hadn't realized what he'd done. Then he understood that Sasha had noticed, as she'd slipped her arms through the sleeves, but had opted no to say anything. That, beyond belief, was an action that intrigued him. He didn't get it.

Then, he got it; she was screwing with him.

"Sasha?" Bucky asked, glancing over at her face as they walked.

She was doing everything in her power to keep from smiling. The corners of her mouth twitching the way they were acted as a testament. "Mmm?"

"You're a god damned punk."

The sound of her resulting laughter was like music to his ears.

\--

"Doll?" Nova's disbelieving voice asked, filtering through the phone line. "Are you serious?"

Andrea, lying on her bed in her pajamas, nodded despite the fact that Nova wouldn't be able to see it. "Yeah. Sometimes doll face, sometimes just doll, sometimes in Russian, but either way, he says it, like, a lot. It's kind of cute, actually."

It was, too. Bucky didn't use the term as some backwards insult the way most guys would have or say it with a condescending tone. No, he used it the way some people might call a girl 'babe.' Most of the time they'd spent together he just called her Sasha, but every now and then, when they got really into it with each other, the endearment would slip right out of him as easily as the diminutive nickname he called her by. There was something that had fluttered in her stomach every time it happened.

"What is he, like, forty? I imagine that his swear vocabulary consists of golly gee and darn?"

"First of all, Bucky swears like a sailor and it's hilarious. Second of all, he's twenty six. Then again, you think anyone over the age of twenty one may as we'll be on their death bed, so I'm not gonna make it a point to argue about.

"Ugh, whatever." Nova's smirk was leaking into her tone of voice, as usual. "But the date was nice?"

Andrea replied, "It wasn't a date. We're just friends, Nova." It was true, too; all she and Bucky had done was walk around with each other, talking and laughing and arguing about whether or not she'd be warm enough for their time together.

"You know," Bucky had said as he'd walked her home. Once the sun had set, it had also started to rain, and his hair kept trying to cling to his face. It wasn't hard to imagine that hers was doing the same. "I haven't met many girls like you."

She'd tilted her head and lifted her eyebrows. While Bucky sounded genuine enough, she'd had a hard time believing his words. "That's sweet of you to say, but I find it really hard to believe."

His only answer had been to stop her walking to adjust his jacket around her shoulders, then to continue walking. Though it had only taken maybe a second or two, the way he tucked the collar under her chin was caring and gentle, but the look in his eyes said that it hadn't been a big deal.

The action had made her realize. "Oh, god, you're probably freezing. Here, you should take your-"

"No."

"But, Bucky-"

"Uh-uh. You keep it on. I don't need you getting sick." His facial expression had been playful, but there had been a note in his voice that held a certain amount of seriousness. Andrea wasn't sure what it was that made Bucky so aggressively motherly, but she hadn't exactly minded that he'd chosen to fuss over her. It was kind of cute, actually.

 When they'd actually made it up to the door of her apartment and had been preparing to say goodbye to each other, Bucky had begun by saying, "I had fun. Thanks for... forgiving me."

Andrea rolled her eyes and planted her hands on her hips. "I said it once and I'll say it again: I was never mad at you. But, anyways, you're welcome. I had fun, too." She tried shrugging Bucky's coat off to return it to him only to find his palms pressed against her shoulders, stopping the fabric from parting with her. "Oh, come on, Bucky! We're inside, it's warm, and there's absolutely no chance of me dying from some weird illness that the cold carries, or whatever."

Bucky smiled, letting his hands gently slide down Andrea's arms. It really wasn't too strange of an action, but the way he'd looked at her, the way his hands hesitated at the edges of her shoulders before drifting down to her wrists and encircling them lightly with his fingers... something about it had made the interaction feel far more sensuous than it should have. "Keep the jacket. I don't need it."

His chivalry was adorable, yes, but at that point it had grown far too excessive for Andrea's liking. "You need it more than I do! It's, like, pouring outside, and you're soaked, Bucky, I really don't-"

"Sasha. Please." He chuckled a little, looking her in the eyes. "If you keep it, it gives me a reason to show up at your door in, let's say, two or three days and ask you on another friendly get together."

She'd gone straight to her phone and called Nova once he'd left.

"Sure, Andrea," Nova retorted, "just friends who totally wanna screw each other. Don't tell me you don't want to, I know you've noticed how absolutely godly that boy's jawline is."

The fact that, yes, she had noticed, was to be disregarded. "Has it occurred to you that people might want more out of a relationship than sex?"

"Has it occurred to you that he'd probably be really, really good at it?"

It was beginning to get harder and harder not to picture the images Nova was no doubt trying extremely hard to plant in her mind. "Or, you know, he could totally not be. Maybe his looks are all the hype and then when it comes down to it, it's awful."

Nova's laughter was a mix of yelling and gasps for air. "Oh, god, no. No way, that's not true. He looks too perfect. He'd be great at it."

Andrea laughed. "Okay, sure. Goodnight, Nova."

"If you think about it, he's probably really dominant-"

"Yeah, okay, goodnight, Nova, I love you!" Then she hung up the phone. It was a struggle, but she somehow managed to put her phone on the charger, get up and turn off the light, lay back down under the covers, then close her eyes all without thinking about Bucky. The same specific clarity couldn't be claimed for her dreams after she fell asleep.


	6. Mother Dearest

"Listen, Steve, I know you're concerned about me and all, but the daily phone calls are starting to get a little monotonous for my tastes."

Sam rolled his eyes, because of course it had to be Steve calling her and not Sam. Granted, it was Steve's phone he was using, so the caller ID would indeed display 'Steve Rogers' on the incoming call screen, but that wasn't the point. "Then I guess it's a good thing I'm calling and not Steve, huh?"

The other end of the line remained silent for a moment. Then, after an inhale of breath, "Sam? What are you doing with Steve's phone?"

A great question, really. What exactly had he taken Steve's phone for while said super soldier was showering in the hotel bathroom? It wasn't like he didn't have his own or anything, so that excuse was out. However, he could claim not to have Natasha's number. That was a bit more reasonable, yet he knew she wouldn't buy it. Natasha wasn't someone you could beat around the bush with.

That didn't stop Sam from trying, though. "You barely answer Steve's calls, and I figured you wouldn't even bother with an unknown number. So, I sorta just, y'know, borrowed Steve's phone. While he's in the shower."

"Meaning that you need a favor from me and you don't want Steve to know about it. I'll give you an 'A' for effort on contacting me, though. You were right; I wouldn't have answered an unknown number."

Which was exactly why he'd called with Steve's phone. If there was one person Natasha was bound to answer the phone for, it would without a doubt be the guy who she'd faced down the god damned Winter Soldier with. Sure, Sam had been along for the ride himself, but Nat seemed to have a particularly strong bond with Steve. He found that, in this event, their friendship was something he could use to his advantage.

Natasha sighed. "Listen, if you need something, just get right to the point. Beating around the bush makes me antsy."

So he'd have to be direct, then. "Uh, okay. I know you're off on some sort of quest to find your past - which, admittedly, confuses me, because I thought you were Russian, and as far as I know, you're in Canada - but I was wondering how soon you'd be willing to drop by the states again?"

"That depends," Natasha replied, voice very careful, "what exactly is it that you need me to drop by for?"

"I... need you to bring me a file on an American citizen. I know it sounds totally invasive, but I wouldn't ask if it wasn't for a good reason. There's something I need to figure out."

There was a high chance that Natasha would decline, Sam knew. She was not a personal errand runner, and would probably not appreciate being called off of her soul searching journey to bring him a stack of paper. That, and she knew what it was like when somebody wanted to dig information up on a person firsthand. How many crazy villains had done their research on the elusive Black Widow?

Still, she knew him. He hoped that that would be enough for her to realize there was no malicious intent on his part

As it turned out, it was. "I can't guarantee you that I can get it to you fast, but I can get it done. Whose file do you need?"

Sam took a deep breath, still trying to comprehend what he was about to say an why he was saying it. "Just a girl from Brooklyn. Her name's Alexandrea Jamison."

\--

"Hello?" Sasha answered her cell phone, giving Bucky an apologetic smile. He liked that she looked annoyed with the interruption to their conversation, one that had consisted entirely on what their plans for the day should contain. It was a Saturday, so she was free from school and wasn't obligated to go into work, and Bucky? Well, if she was free, then he was, too. Mostly all he did was wait around for Sasha to not be busy so that he could make plans with her.

Four weeks. Four fantastically normal, calming weeks with his Sasha. He wasn't sure when he'd started thinking of her as his, maybe somewhere around halfway through the second, but the specifics weren't important. What was important was that he'd spent four weeks with a lovely young college sophomore who liked eating red velvet cupcakes and reading while laying upside down on her couch. Bucky had managed to learn so much about Sasha; particularly that she had a crap sleeping schedule, reflected by the large amount of late texts and calls about the most random shit he'd ever heard of on the disposable cell phone he'd bought so she'd have a way to contact him.

He'd also learned the variants in her facial expressions, so that when he looked at her while she was on the phone, he could tell that she was growing distraught. "What's wrong?" he mouthed, reaching out to rest a hand on her shoulder. He only realized he'd accidentally used the metal one when he saw her flinch at the coolness. "What's the matter?"

She shook her head, then replied to the person on the phone, the worry evident in her being. Something seemed to be extremely wrong. "No, you said you weren't coming until next week! I thought you were still visiting Calix?" Distress did not become Sasha; Bucky did not enjoy that something had the power to make her so agitated. "I'm really not-" An interruption. "No, I'm happy you're coming, it's just-" Another sequence of ramble from the other line. "Okay, well how soon are you going to be here?

The color drained from Sasha's face, leaving her as pale as she could be and prompting Bucky to become extremely worried. It was all he could do not to push her for an explanation. "I'll see you, then," she mumbled, then hung up her phone and let it drop to the couch cushion. For all the world, she looked about ready to throw up.

Bucky was beginning to revert back to the paranoid, shifty assassin with fingers that itched for the trigger of a submachine gun. Something was up; a simple phone call had managed to stun Sasha into temporary paralysis, and if that didn't scream shady, he didn't know what the word meant.

"Oh, god," she whispered, catapulting herself up from the couch and rushing into a flurry of actions. Bucky quickly followed her, keeping pace as she raced around her apartment, straightening a picture frame here and refolding an unused throw blanket there. At that point, he was just thoroughly confused; what in the hell had her uncharacteristically cleaning up her comfortably cluttered living space? "Okay, oh my god, wow, alright."

Before she could get any further away from him (because, wow, Sasha moved really fast when she was distraught) he clamped his hands down on her shoulders. Normally, he'd be particularly adamant about giving her personal space and asking before he touched her, but their situation as of current was a special one. "What's got you all riled up? You're not usually this jumpy." He would know; he'd been around her enough.

Sasha's eyes held all of the regret in the world as she answered, "I am so, _so_ sorry about this, like, seriously. You haven't been around long enough for it to ever come up in just a passing conversation, and honestly, I totally forgot-" Her rushed apology and fretful explanation were cut off by a knock at the door. Placed in the very center, extremely precise, and repeated three times. If possible, Sasha's face became even paler. "Holy _shit_ ," she whispered, "okay, oh my god."

"Hey," Bucky pressed, squeezing her shoulders in a way that he hoped was more comforting than intimidating, "take a deep breath. Breathe. What's the matter? Who is it?"

"I..." She merely shook her head and breathed as he had asked her to. "I promise I will explain everything later, but please, _please_. I need you to do something really, really important for me, okay?"

The thought of saying no crossed his mind. Bucky didn't know what it was she needed him to do, and, though extremely minuscule, there was the chance that it would cause him to compromise himself. No one just agreed to vague favors, no questions asked; that was one of the first things he'd learned, both as a soldier and an assassin. Still, though, it was Sasha, and she was just a dance major in college. It wasn't as if she was asking him to kill anybody for her. And so, after a second or two, he agreed. "What do you need?"

"Pretend to be my boyfriend." With no further explanation, Sasha ran for the door to answer to whoever it was waiting for her on the other side.

Well. Between both the experiences of his first life and his second, that was certainly a new one.

With all of Sasha's fear and evident stress, Bucky wasn't quite sure who he was expecting to be on the other side of the door she opened. An ex-boyfriend, maybe? That would explain her strange request. Perhaps an elitist friend, one who was very judgmental and upscale, had decided to pay her a visit? Bucky would have believed either one of those situations, based on the way she was acting.

The person who walked through the door was far from what he'd been assuming. A woman of average height, white skinned and somewhere in her early fifties, strutted through the door, her short hair a halo of graying gold underneath the fluorescent lighting of the apartment. This was a woman he'd never seen before, had never encountered. He wondered what it was about her that had scared Sasha so badly.

"Alexandrea!" she exclaimed, walking forward to hug the young girl. Her demeanor was completely unthreatening; Bucky couldn't figure out what it was that had Sasha worrying about her.

Sasha returned the embrace, a smile shaping her mouth. Whether it was because of the time he'd spent with her or just because he was fairly adept at reading facial expressions, he could tell that the smile was almost entirely forced. "Hello, Mother." That answered the question of who she was, but still paid no attention to the question of why Sasha was shutting down and turning into something more soft spoken. "How was visiting Calix?"

"I didn't end up visiting him; you know how you're brother is, claiming to always be busy so he doesn't have to deal with me. Well, maybe it's not so much your brother as it is that wife of his." She made _wife_ sound like a dirty word. "No manners, rude, completely disrespectful. She hates me!"

"I'm sure she doesn't hate you, Mother. You have to admit, you could stand to be a little nicer to Rosella." It was easy to see whose side Sasha was on, what with her crossed arms and tilted head, and it certainly wasn't her mother's. "You did try to convince Calix not to marry her."

Sasha's mother began moving forward, heading towards the table to set her things down. Bucky got the same feeling from her walk that he had from her knocking - that she was self important, self righteous, and self absorbed. "Oh, please. My Calix is far too good for that-" Sasha's mother cut herself off on the middle of her sentence after turning and catching sight of Bucky. He wondered what it must have looked like to her, and couldn't help but laugh mentally. A tall man with long hair dressed in tattered jeans and a black shirt standing in the middle of her daughter's apartment? He could only imagine what was running through the woman's mind.

"Alexandrea," the woman hissed, grabbing her daughter's arm, "who is this man?"

If he said that he didn't find the fear in her voice amusing, he'd be lying. The unguarded look of anxiety on Sasha's face, allowed to roam freely as her mother's gaze was not immediately trained on her, caught Bucky's attention. She didn't know what to do with herself, he realized. Yes, she'd gotten him to agree to being her "boyfriend" and yes, he was fully prepared to play the part, but that didn't mean she wasn't scared. He could see it in her eyes; Sasha was downright terrified. At first he didn't understand why, but then he realized.

Her mother.

In the back of his mind, he sorted out that technically, it was her adoptive mother standing before him, not her biological, but either way. A child should never look at any mother figure they had like that, not ever. This brought one question to the forefront of his mind, one that he decided he may or may not need the answer to later: What on earth had happened between these two that had effected Sasha so badly?

Speaking of Sasha, she'd removed her arm from her mother's grip and walked forward, giving him a soft smile. Bucky could tell exactly what it was: a silent thank you, and a silent apology. "I'm sorry, Mother, if I'd known you were coming, I would've... I wouldn't have-"

"Agreed to having me over," Bucky interjected, purposely planting a look of shy apology on his face. It was clear that, while Sasha had commandeered him as her fake boyfriend, she had not thought ahead enough to give him a proper reason to be there. And, well, he'd gotten a sudden spark of creativity. Not that Sasha was aware that he'd been an assassin previously, but she'd certainly done well in picking him; he planned on making that evident to her. "Alexandrea told me she was getting ready to have you come visit her for a few days and that it would probably be best if we took a rain check on our plans, but I'm afraid that I insisted on seeing her. She didn't think you'd be coming for a little while longer."

The lie slipped from his mouth easily, and getting just the right amount of admiration into his tone when he said Sasha's name wasn't difficult. Actually, the hardest thing to do was say 'Alexandrea' without fucking it up too badly.

Her mother placed her hands on her hips, an air of superiority growing thickly around her. "I see. Who are you, exactly?"

"Oh, right, I'm sorry." Subtly shifting his head so that Sasha could see him wink at her with his left eye, he then took a step froward and reached a hand towards her mother, deliberately using his right hand. The left he hid inconspicuously behind his back. "My name is James Barnes. I'm Alexandrea's boyfriend."

He could tell by the way that the short woman looked him up and down, an overly disparaging look on her face that he was going to have a lot of fun with the woman before him. Not enough to worsen the relationship between her and her daughter, but just enough to mess with her the way he knew that Sasha wanted to but never did.

\--

"I am so sorry about today," Andrea groaned as she let herself and Bucky back into her apartment. They'd been walking around town all day with her mother and had been subjected to an endless stream of unwanted commentary, and had only managed to escape after convincing her mother that it was too late to do anything else. After making sure she got in a cab and was headed back to the hotel she'd be staying at for the duration of her time in Brooklyn, Bucky had offered to walk Andrea home. "I seriously had no idea she'd be coming. She didn't text me or anything."

"You don't need to apologize," Bucky said to her, "but an explanation would be nice. Why did you need your mother to think that we were together?"

She motioned for him to sit on the couch, flopping down beside him once he did. "Where do you want me to start?"

"The beginning would probably be the easiest."

"Right." In her mind she was hoping that if she stayed quiet long enough, Bucky would forget what they were talking about. While both impractical and unlikely, no one could say that she wasn't blindingly optimistic at all times.

Bucky's metal hand came up to tuck a wave of hair that had managed to escape her bun behind her ear. Andrea took a moment to marvel at the way it felt, closing her eyes as she listened to the humming and whirring the prosthetic was emitting. The amount of time she'd spent attempting to figure out his arm was practically embarrassing. Obviously it wasn't just a normal prosthetic, but how the hell did it work? Was it running on electricity? If so, did he have to charge it? How did it move so well? Could he feel with it? She'd wanted to ask him all of this, but felt that the questions would be far too personal to be appropriate for their budding friendship. If Bucky wanted to tell her, he would.

Still. The coolness of the metal felt really, really nice as it unintentionally skimmed the side of her face. "Listen, _kukla litso_ ," he murmured, prompting her to open his eyes. Was it her imagination, or did he look almost pained for her? "You don't have to talk about it. I'm not going to force you to."

The Russian words brought a smile to her face. "You and your fucking terms of endearment," Andrea laughed. She didn't need to ask what _kukla litso_  meant; she'd learned several weeks ago that it was Russian for 'doll face' and that she actually liked it more when he called her things in the foreign language. This, of course, included the nickname of Sasha he'd given her.

Andrea sighed and repositioned herself so that she could lean her head against his metal shoulder. If she needed to tell him this story, and she did - not because she had to, but because they were friends and she wanted to - then she'd tell it to him without looking him in the eyes.

"It's not really just one thing," she began, closing her eyes, "it's just a bunch of things that have happened over time. I guess it all started when I was fifteen; that was the year my dad died." Andrea paused here, waiting to see if Bucky would say anything. Usually people attacked her with pity and sympathetic comments when they heard that her father had died, but he remained quiet. "That was the year she'd started treating me differently. Calix had been in his freshman year of college, but he'd come home for a little while for the funeral. Mother, she's... not the best at dealing with grief. She drowned herself in her work, started taking extra hours so she wouldn't have to come home and talk to me. Once he got there, Calix saw what was happening and took me out to dinner to talk about it."

That night remained one of her clearer memories. While she'd tried ridiculously hard to get rid of the clarity, it never faded, never left. It clouded her mind at the most inopportune times, and it was not allowing her an exception as she tried to explain it to Bucky. Andrea could still remember what she and her brother had been wearing, how she'd agreed to at least eat something even though she hadn't been hungry. Worst of all, she remembered the events that had occurred after returning home with her brother, had remembered the absolutely awful stench of tequila and vodka and whiskey and whatever the hell else her mother had had opened at the time. She decided she should just go ahead and press on with the story. This was only the first of many, and if she expected to get through all the others, she'd have to get this one down first.

"We got home around eleven p.m. Mother was, uh, waiting for us when we got home. The house seemed fine from the outside; actually, looking back on it, the calm felt sort of deceptive now. But, uh, we went inside and there was just this really, really strong stench of alcohol. We found her in the living room."

Next was the part that Andrea hated to remember most. Sure, years had passed ever since the event had taken place, but still. Once they'd been built, walls were hard to try and tear down. It seemed that Bucky sensed this, because he reached across with his right arm to take hold of one of her hands. His was warm and calloused, comfortingly rough and so absolutely Bucky. Still, though, he remained silent; always silent

"She was really, really angry for some reason, and said a lot of things that she still hasn't taken back. Apologized for them, yeah, but she never once said she didn't mean any of it." Andrea swallowed and laughed bitterly, turning her head and burying her face in Bucky's shoulder. The smooth, slatted metal easy to feel through the thin material of his shirt. "Told me that the only reason she put up with me was because of my father, which she found funny, because he wasn't really my father and she certainly wasn't my mother." It wasn't until she heard the soft 'plunk' of her tears on his shoulder that she realized she was crying, and when she realized, she pulled away immediately. "Oh, fuck, your arm. I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay," Bucky insisted, but she'd already moved herself away from him. If she weren't so embarrassed about her emotions, she might've caught the note of disappointment in his voice. "Water doesn't do anything to it, really. It's okay."

"I don't even know why I'm crying right now, it happened a really long time ago. I'm over it." The lie was so obvious that it was pitiful. No, she wasn't over it, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to say she was. "I mean, she's right. They're not my parents; my parents didn't even want me."

That was all she could get through without breaking down completely. In the back of her mind she wondered why it was that she still held so much resentment towards her mother for that night, felt so angry and ashamed, but she didn't give the thoughts much weight. She didn't dwell on things like that, didn't act on them or think much of them other than that they were uncharacteristically dark thoughts by her standards. Her breathing grew labored and she began coughing and spluttering. Andrea couldn't look at Bucky's face, but she hoped he wasn't judging her in a way that was too negative.

These hopes were met with a desirable answer when he wrapped his arms around her, using both the metal one and the one made of flesh and bone to scoop her into an embrace. It was attentive and caring, and if someone had told her that he could hold someone this way the first time she'd met him, she'd have thought they were lying. "Shhh," he murmured, resting his chin atop her head, " _tikho, Sashen'ka. Me plach'. Eto ne stoit tvoikh slez."_

Whatever the words meant, their rhythm was comforting enough for her. They'd have to be, for now, if she was going to make herself talk about everything that went wrong with her mother. Without moving her head away from his chest or wiggling too much under Bucky's arms, she said, "Like I said, that wasn't the only thing."

"Look, you really don't have to," Bucky murmured, stroking a hand through her hair. Andrea had no idea that he could be such a gentle person. Yeah, they'd been growing closer over the last month or so, but she still found herself trying to figure him out. Sometimes he seemed like two completely different people, one day acting cold and distant and detached, and the next he was the most warm, inviting person she could think of. "It's not... I don't want to make you tell me."

"James Buchanan Barnes," she laughed through her tears, feeling a certain sort of power come from using his full name, "just how much power do you think you've got over me?"

"Not enough," he murmured, letting a slight sigh blow out, "or you wouldn't be crying. But, if you're really sure, then go ahead and tell me."

It took her a few moments to stop the crying, and another moment to regain her composure. Andrea didn't move away from Bucky, though. At the time, he was her only source for comfort. "From then on, Mother sort of just... looked down on me. Made me feel like I was stupid, like I wasn't ever gonna be able to do anything with myself. You know how I'm a dance major?" Bucky nodded against her head, chin moving away and then dipping back down to touch. "Right, well she wanted me to be like, a lawyer or a doctor. Said if I was gonna waste my time on some stupid thing that wasn't going to get me a career, then she sure as hell wasn't going to pay for it. I got really scared that I wasn't going to be able to go to school for a little while."

For maybe the first time, Bucky interjected. "How did you end up paying for school, then?"

"I got a scholarship through Stark Industries." Andrea remembered the day she got it, too. She'd applied at the beginning of her senior year in the hopes that an acceptance would come to her in time for graduation. A lot of people had told her not to bother, including her own teachers, because why in the hell would Tony Stark fund the college education of a student who wouldn't eventually end up working for him? She hadn't listened, though, and had sent the form to Stark Industries anyway.

Andrea had had a lot of hopes riding on that scholarship. Her grades weren't good enough to get her any college funding and the traditional dance scholarships had been given to others. If Tony Stark chose not to go out on a limb for her, she'd be totally and completely screwed. During the middle of her graduation ceremony, however, an expensive car had shown up and a Stark Industries representative had walked up to the podium, apologizing for the interruption and announcing that he had a scholarship to award to Alexandrea Faith Jamison. As it turned out, Tony Stark seemed to have a soft spot for the arts.

"Basically, ever since my dad died, Mother's just been sort of awful. Every time she visits, it just seems to be really strained and terrible and I end up crying, kind of like I am now."

Bucky sighed, unwrapping his arms from around her and moving his hands to grip Andrea's shoulders to push her back so that he could look her in the eyes. "It's understandable, _kukla_. You didn't deserve what she said to you, and you certainly didn't deserve to have to rely on some guy you don't even know to give you money for school. You shouldn't put up with her the way you do, though. Sasha, the way you were acting today..." His eyes looked pained for her, and she wasn't sure how to feel about it. "You seemed so, so stressed."

She shook her head. "I know, I know, I just... what am I supposed to do? If I try to talk to her about it, she'll just play the blame game and say it was all my fault."

Bucky shrugged. Andrea could tell by the look on his face that he didn't want to let it drop, but he didn't want to push her either. "It's late," he said at last, releasing her shoulders, "you should get some sleep."

Meeting his eyes, Andrea asked, "Do you want to stay the night?" It came out soft and hesitant. For some reason she couldn't pinpoint, she really wanted him to say yes.

Her hopes were answered when he replied with, "Yes. Yes, I'd like that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! I'm sorry if you've been waiting on this one for a little while, but I recently started school again and I'm just a bit busy with all of that and choir and stuff. Not to worry, though! This chapter's all typed up and ready to go :)


	7. Confrontation

Sharing a bed with Sasha was a new experience for Bucky. That was not to say, however, that he had no memories of sleeping on the same mattress as a girl. Actually, back in his regular life span, the action had occurred more than once. Not that he had been the type to sleep around, but every now and then, when he found that he had a really profound connection with a girl, they'd... be together, after a while.

With Sasha, though, it was different. When they'd first gotten into bed with each other, he hadn't been sure _what_  he should expect. Certainly not sex; their relationship wasn't of that nature, and if she tried anything, he would have had to assume it was because she wasn't in her right mind and put a stop to it. She hadn't done anything though, no more than invite him in to sleep in her bed and curl up to his chest once the lights were out. The way she propped her head against his chest, the way she wrapped her arms around his torso, something about the whole ordeal was just so innocent that he wouldn't even think about anything more than what they were doing, let alone entertain the thought that he could act upon those thoughts.

At first, he'd been pretty hesitant about the whole thing. Hell, he'd been assuming that he'd be staying in the guest room again, which was where he'd been heading when Sasha called his name. He found her in her bed, covers drawn up to her chin and eyes still puffy from crying. Though he knew he should have said no, as he often should have done with Sasha, he'd given into not only her wishes, but also his own. It was the first night that he didn't mind not being able to sleep.

At least, it had been until something cracked against the window. That had sort of ruined his good mood.

His first instinct was to look down at Sasha and make sure she was still sleeping. On the off chance that it had just been a bunch of stupid kids throwing things at the window just to be assholes, he'd be very upset if they woke her. She'd had a tough day, and she certainly didn't deserve to be woken because of some dumb kids. Then, on the greater chance that it had been something else that hit the window, he'd still be pretty pissed.

Bucky knew he could just ignore the noise and go back to watching the rise and fall of Sasha's chest, but he just couldn't. He was still getting over his whole Winter Soldier power trip, and the mechanic voice in the back of his mind just wouldn't let him leave it alone. And so that was how he'd found himself gently removing his body from Sasha's tangled limbs and taking extra care to pad silently over to the window. It was times like these that he was thankful for the cat like stealth he acquired over the years.

The rain that was falling splashed against his arms as he eased the window up, the water droplets clinging to the hairs on his good arm and giving the metal of his left arm an ethereal sheen. It was deceptive, how beautiful one of the things that enabled him to kill could be sometimes. When he first woke up with the arm attached to his body all he could do was stare. At the moment, though, his arm was not his main priority, and so he moved on.

A general scan of the outside area showed that no one was directly outside or across the street. Whoever it was that had made the commotion would be long gone, and would therefor be undetectable. The Winter Soldier didn't want to let it go, though; if they'd thrown something at the window, it would have landed on the fire escape. It would still be there.

The rain was dropping against his left arm, emitting a soft metallic 'plunk' as his fingers closed around the rock sitting on the fire escape. He was just about to allow himself to believe that it actually had been just some stupid kids when his eyes caught site of a square of paper taped to the rock. So. It _had_ been deliberate, then.

Ever so gently using his fingers to pick at the taped edge of the paper until it curled up, he carefully peeled the paper from the rock. This could be a very dangerous moment for him. Whatever was written on that little scrap of paper had the potential to crash his new life into the ground.

Still. If he didn't read the note, he wouldn't know what it was he was dealing with.

What he found made him rip the paper to shreds and toss them back out the window along with the rock. Turning and laying back down on the bed with Sasha, he allowed her to re-curl around him as he stared up at the ceiling. The phrase printed on the paper ran through his mind over and over again, and he knew that it would be quite sometime before he forgot the words, if he ever did.

_You've grown careless, Mr. Barnes. Hydra would like to remind you of that._

Bucky didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

\--

Andrea woke the next morning to an empty bed and a single text message on her phone from Bucky.

_Woke up early this morning and your mother dropped by. She insisted I go into town with her. Mildly frightened._

She could hardly hold back her laughter. If there was anyone she knew that could be considered seriously scary, it was definitely Bucky. Of course, he wasn't really; it was just sort of the way he came off. And the idea that tiny old Vivian Jamison could scare a guy twice her size? Definitely a little more than hilarious. She typed out:

_Damn right you are. Try not to wind up dead in an alley?_

_I'm sorry, I didn't realize I had turned into you. We'll be back later -Bucky_

Rolling her eyes and sitting up in her bed, she let herself think about what had happened the night before. Had she really managed to rack up the courage to ask Bucky to stay in her bed? After their conversation and her breaking down on him, had he really agreed to stay with her? As it turned out, he had.

She could still feel his arms, both flesh and metal, carefully wrapped around her middle, her small legs tangled with his. To share a bed with him had made her nervous, despite the fact that she'd asked for it. What if he'd gotten the wrong impression? What if he'd thought she'd been asking for something that she hadn't outright said? Bucky hadn't tried anything, though, hadn't done anything besides lay with her. Maybe he'd picked up on how fragile a state she was in. Or, perhaps, had simply understood that all she wanted was companionship. Either way, she'd been grateful.

That being said, Andrea really hoped she didn't fuck up their relationship with what she felt for him. The butterflies she got when looking at him? Well, Bucky was more on the attractive end of the spectrum, so that was to be expected. However, the more aggressive, more insistent butterflies that pounded against her stomach when he brushed her even in the slightest of ways? Those were to be paid a bit more heed.

Before getting up to fully prepare herself for the day, Andrea picked up her phone and called Nova. "Hey," her friend answered after the third ring, "how's it going?"

"Pretty boring at the moment. You wouldn't happen to want to drop by, would you?"

"Depends. Is tall, dark, and sexy as hell still there? Because I don't wanna impose on the two of you sucking face or anything." Andrea laughed. Over the last month, she'd heard many of those jokes coming from Nova, all in good nature. They were funny more often than not.

"Actually, no. My mother - who totally ambushed us yesterday, which I will tell you more about when you get over here - dragged him out to town earlier this morning. I'm almost afraid to see what he's like when they get back." Which wasn't entirely untrue; Andrea was scared to see what happened when a friend of hers had prolonged exposure to her mother.

Nova made a sort of choking noise. "Oh my god, he's alone with her? You let that happen?"

Andrea rolled her eyes, replying, "It's not like I could do anything to stop it. He was gone when I woke up."

The other side of the line grew quiet, and it was only when Nova spoke again that she realized what she'd let slip. "Alexandrea Faith Jamison. Did you sleep with him last night?"

"No! Well, actually, yes, but not in the way you're thinking!" She really should have chosen her words a bit more carefully.

"Holy shit, I'm coming over. Give me, like, twenty minutes, okay? I expect an explanation as soon as I walk in that door, you hear me?" Andrea couldn't even utter an agreeable statement before the line was disconnected from the other side.

After showering and twisting her hair into a side braid, Andrea wandered over to her closet to pick her clothing for the day, clad in a towel while doing so. Normally she didn't bother covering up, but Nova was certainly not the best at knocking. Her first instinct was to go for comfy clothing; it was a Sunday, after all, and it wasn't as if she really did anything on Sundays. However, if Bucky would be returning to the apartment with her mother, the last criticism she needed was one on how she presented herself. She'd been given a plethora of lectures of that variety during her high school years. That was why she let her hand stray from yoga pants to black skinny jeans, picking up a pastel pink shirt to go with them. Nice enough for her mother, but casual enough to wear around the house.

It seemed that she'd just gotten her clothing on when a knock sounded from the door. "Babe, I'm here!" Nova called shortly before letting herself into her room. Andrea didn't need to wonder as to how she'd gotten into the apartment; Nova had been given the spare key for emergencies during their first year of college together.

Without wasting anytime, the eccentric blonde crossed the small room and flopped down into Andrea's bed. "Details. Now."

Sighing, Andrea threw herself down beside her friend. She couldn't remember how many times they'd spent weekends together like this in high school. If they didn't have any plans or obligations to go out after a sleepover, they'd always just stay in the bedroom of whichever of their houses they were at. As Nova now stayed in a college dorm, though, it typically ended up being Andrea's. Thank god Tony Stark had also opted to pay for her living space as part of the scholarship. "What exactly is it that you want to know?"

Nova sat up so fast that Andrea got whiplash just from watching. "Don't play games with me here! Did you or did you not sleep with him?"

Laughing, Andrea sat down on her bed next to her friend. "We didn't have sex; I know that's what you were thinking, and I'm sorry to disappoint." She watched as Nova's face fell, waiting a few more seconds before adding, "We did cuddle, though." Holding off on that had been pure cruelty and Andrea knew it.

"That's one step closer!" Nova squealed in excitement, giving Andrea a big grin and a bear hug. "Aww, my little Virgin Mary's growing up! How'd you talk him into it?"

This was the part that Andrea was dreading sharing. Not because she didn't want to tell Nova about her issues, but because she knew how her friend would react. The last thing she needed was a clash between her best friend and her mother, which was bound to happen, she assumed, at some point. But she needed to tell Nova about what happened last night; if she kept her ongoing activities with Bucky to herself, she may end up combusting.

"I was really upset last night and asked him if he wanted to stay over. What had happened was he and I were planning out our day yesterday morning, because I swear to god Nova, Bucky's lived in Brooklyn for all his life and he doesn't even know half the things to do around here. So anyways, like, not even an hour after he gets here my mother calls me and shows up like ten minutes later. I had to talk him into pretending to being my boyfriend, and-"

"Wait, wait, wait. You did not. Tell me you didn't do that to that poor boy." Nova's giggles shook the mattress, a great feat considering her size. "Are you serious right now?"

Andrea rolled over and batted her best friend on the arm. What she'd done was already weighing down on her conscience and she really didn't need any other commentary besides positive reassurance. "I panicked, okay? Mother was always talking about how she'd be surprised if I managed to get a serious boyfriend, and Bucky was there, so I just asked him to help me out."

"Let me get this straight," Nova insisted, waving a hand to indicate for Andrea to stop for a moment. "You wanted to prove to your mom that you could get a real boyfriend, right? That's where this started. So, to pull that off, you decided to ask a guy you've been hanging out with for maybe a month - who is very sweet and crazy hot, might I add, if a little on the sketchy side - to pretend to be your boyfriend instead of legitimately asking him out. You see the irony in this situation, right? It's not just me?"

Okay, so maybe Andrea's plan had been a little crazy, but she wasn't about to admit that. She did understand what Nova was trying to say, that she was proving her mother right by commissioning a fake boyfriend to play the part of a real one, but it wasn't exactly like there was any way for her to get out of it. She'd just have to play the cards she'd been dealt. Besides; Bucky had agreed to go along with it.

Before Andrea could concede and tell Nova that, hey, maybe she was right, a noise came from the main room of her apartment. "Alexandrea, darling!" The voice of her mother both alerted her and caused he to cringe internally. Though, it also meant that Bucky was back, so the experience was somewhat bittersweet. "James and I are back!"

Nova groaned. "Totally not looking forward to this. Do I actually have to go out there? Because I think it would be best for everyone if I just... stayed in here."

"Oh, hell no. If I have to go out there, you have to go out there."

"Come on! She's _your_ mom! Don't you remember the last time she and I were in the same room?"

"Yeah, actually." The personalities of Andrea's mother and best friend had clashed in the worst way possible. Vivian had felt the need to keep throwing subtle insults at Nova as well as Andrea, to which Nova's response had been to swear up a storm. Needless to say, Nova made sure not to be around "I'm still pretty sure half of the bad words I know came from you."

Andrea's bedroom door opened and Bucky stepped in. "Hey, wasn't sure if you were still home." After another moment, he saw that Nova was in the room with her. "Hello, Nova."

Both girls remained where they were, completely shocked at the sight that was before them. It seemed that Bucky picked up on their startled states, because after another moment of total obliviousness, he asked, "What?"

Allowing herself to clamber off the bed and step slowly towards Bucky, she kept her eyes trained on him, mentally comparing the difference of what he looked like now and what he'd looked like last night. "You cut your hair," she stated. "You didn't tell me you were gonna cut your hair."

"Damn, Andrea," Nova laughed, joining her at her side, "less than twenty four hours as your fake boyfriend and you've already driven him to change his look. It's nice, though," she added, analyzing Bucky's now short locks.

While Bucky's hair had been shoulder length the last time both girls had seen him, it was now cut short, styled and slicked in sort of an old-timey way. Something about the image seemed weirdly familiar to Andrea, like she should recognize him as more than what she knew him as, and yet nothing came to mind. Either way, the shortened hair looked great on him, maybe even better than the shoulder length, and she really couldn't say that she hadn't thought that Bucky should get a hair cut at least once or twice. The only thing that bugged her about it was the idea of how it had come to pass. "Did she make you?" Andrea asked softly.

Her eyes wandered up to meet Bucky's, and she wasn't sure what it was, but something clicked in that moment. She knew, damn it, she knew he was from somewhere. The first day they'd met, he'd denied ever seeing her and she'd taken his word for it, but at that exact moment? Doubt was creeping into her mind and latching on, if only a little bit at a time.

"No," he replied after a few moments. A tiny smile edged its way onto his face, and the easy look he had pushed the thoughts of deception from her mind for the time being. It had taken a few weeks to get him to be so easy going around her, but nonetheless, she'd chipped away at the indifference that was Bucky Barnes. Being warm to her was physical proof of that. "Your mother wants to see you, though. I had to work to get her to let you sleep in."

"Of course. We shouldn't keep her, she'll get upset." Andrea turned back to Nova. "Come on, you gotta deal with her sooner or later."

"Would rather it be never," the blonde muttered, running a hand through her hair, "she hates me and I hate her. I think I'm okay with that."

Bucky laughed, then grabbed Andrea's left hand with his right one. At her questioning glance, he answered, "I've been hired as an actor, remember?" The way he said it was playful enough, but she couldn't help the pang of guilt that she felt. Nova's earlier words about how she was proving her mother right floated back into her mind.

All three of them walked out of Andrea's room and into the living area together. There, Vivian was waiting, standing from the couch to greet them all. "Oh, Alexandrea, it's nice to see you're finally awake." Her eyes then caught sight of Nova, and her mouth formed into a taut line. "Just what exactly are you doing here?" Vivian asked. Andrea knew that voice; she knew it, and knew what it would bring.

"Nova's a guest, Mother, and I don't want you talking to her that way." Her hand tightened around Bucky's subconsciously. "I'd really appreciate it if you could be civil towards her."

Vivian's eyes locked onto her daughter, narrowing slightly. Suddenly, Andrea felt like she had when she was in high school, afraid of her mother and in slight danger. "Are you _defending_ her? Alexandrea Jamison, you remember how insulting she was at your brother's wedding!" "No, mother. I remember you making a big deal out of Nova liking Rosella, Calix's wife who you coincidentally _don't_ like, and you getting angry that her opinion was different from yours."

"Young lady, don't you dare talk to me that way. I didn't come all of this way to get an attitude from you."

Just like that, they fell back into the routine of what always passed between them when Vivian decided to visit Andrea. "Mother, please, I wasn't trying to give you attitude. It's just that you don't need to talk to my friend that way."

Clasping her hands together in a way that looked suspiciously self restraining, Andrea's mother sighed and rolled her eyes. "I think I should go. I'll drop by sometime later. Goodbye, Alexandrea. James." With that, she walked out, allowing Andrea to expel a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

\--

If there was one thing Tony Stark had been expecting at 2:35 in the morning, it was definitely not a phone call from Steve Rogers. Maybe one from Pepper, telling him to get out of his workshop and get at least a few hours of sleep, that would have been a bit more predictable. However, when JARVIS told him the call was coming from Brooklyn, New York, and it was from Steve Rogers? Tony was baffled, to say the least.

"Rogers," Tony greeted a bit uncertainly after getting the call to run through his tech, "I hope this is you calling to tell me you're coming to stay at the tower with the rest of us. Barton's going through Russian love withdrawal and is in need of a friend. Sadly, since you're out for the count, Thor's in the same boat with his science girlfriend, and Banner seems to be a no go, he's picked me to dump it on."

"Sorry, Stark, it looks like I'm not coming back to Manhattan for a few more weeks." The amusement in Steve's voice was unmistakable, and Tony enjoyed that he could detect it. Steve was learning how to banter with him, finally. "You know, you could tell Clint to just call Natasha. She answers for me nine out of ten times."

"Tried that, he refused. Said the two of them had some sort of weird agreement about bugging each other while they were off on solo intel missions. Hey, did you know they've got, like, friendship bracelets? Barton wears a bracelet with a damn spider charm." It had been the subject of many of Tony's jokes, though Clint seemed adamant about not getting the least bit embarrassed.

On the other end, Steve cleared his throat. "Are you sure? I thought they were necklaces. Nat's got an arrow necklace."

"Yeah, well, Nat's kind of a hipster, doesn't mean much." Tony sighed and walked over to his desk, sitting down and taking a swig from a glass of what he'd thought had been scotch, but ended up being ice water. Bruce must have switched it out before he'd gone to bed. Actually, Tony decided, it had probably been Thor; if it had been Bruce, the end result would have been tea. "Anyways, what can I do you for, Cap? I'm a busy man, I've got things to do."

He could physically feel Steve refraining from answering with another wise crack. "Right, uh... Well, I'm here in Brooklyn with Sam-"

"The mystery bird dude who sounds like the Great Value version of Barton?"

"-and we've been-" Steve stopped himself once Tony's comment registered. Okay, so maybe the comment had been uncalled for, but it had sounded funny in his head. "I'm gonna let that go; it's two in the morning, you're probably just as tired as I am. Anyways, I'm looking for someone and I need you to answer something for me. How many kids do you sponsor for college?"

Not a question he got too often. Tony knew he sponsored a lot of kids, but knowing the exact amount was not something he thought of as his job. "Uh, don't know."

Steve's confusion and bafflement filtered through the line. "You don't know how much money you're handing out to universities every year?"

"Listen, Pepper's CEO, Pepper gives out school funding. It's not like I'm going to go bankrupt with her in charge of the money."

"How's he even know that the person he's looking for has a scholarship under you?"

"God damn it, Barton!" Tony yelled, jumping out of his chair as Clint dropped down from the ceiling. Sometimes he really, really hated that he lived with assassins; their stealth was just as inconvenient as the fact that they could potentially kill him if he ate their Cinnamon Toast Crunch. "What the hell are you doing in my rafters? It's almost three in the fucking morning!"

Clint couldn't keep the grin off his face, and Tony decided he was going to have to have a chat with him later. "Couldn't sleep and I got bored. But anyways, Cap, how do you know they've got a Stark scholarship?"

Steve cleared his throat and sounded particularly bashful when he admitted, "I visited her high school to see if they had her current college on file, but all it says is that she was accepted to attend school on behalf of Stark Industries. Do you maybe have a list or something?"

Racking his brain while at the same time trying to calm down from Barton's little surprise act, Tony thought. He wouldn't have it on paper because paper annoyed him. There was a chance Pepper would have a list on paper because, well, she was Pepper, but it was almost three in the morning and she wouldn't appreciate being woken, even if it was for Steve.

"Why don't you just ask JARVIS?" questioned Clint, who looked a little too smug about the suggestion.

"Shut the fuck up, Barton, I don't need your ego in my life." Still. It wasn't a bad idea. Sighing, Tony raised his voice. "Hey, JARVIS? How many kids am I giving a scholarship for college at the moment?"

"Five hundred and twenty seven, sir," came JARVIS's reply.

"Holy shit, can I afford that?"

"Assuming most of them will graduate to work for you, and their involvement in your industry will bring in money for what you've agreed to sponsor them for, then yes, sir."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Huh. How 'bout that?" Getting back on track, he asked, "Can we narrow it down for Steve?"

"On what fields?"

"Good question. Steve?"

Steve's answer was, "Okay, uh, I'm looking for a girl. How many girl's do you sponsor?"

JARVIS answered without being prompted by Tony. "Three hundred and sixty," he stated in a matter of fact manner.

This time it was Clint who interjected. "Wow, seriously? That many?"

Tony grinned. "A lot more girls are taking an interest in engineering and tech these days, Barton. It's beautiful; makes me proud." Turning back to the communication screen with Steve's identification photo, he said, "Listen, it'll be easier if I know what this girl's learning. What's she in school for, architecture, manufacturing, statistics, physics?"

"Uh..." Steve sounded completely unsure in his response. "Performing arts?"

Raising an eyebrow, Clint turned to Tony and remarked, "Since when do you sponsor the arts?" "I don't," he responded with just as much confusion. "JARVIS? How many kids do I sponsor for performing arts?"

"Only one, sir. Her name is Alexandrea Jamison."

Okay, Tony figured, maybe Pepper had a spot in her heart for the arts. He'd have to ask her about the girl later. "And what college does she go to?"

"The Marymount Manhattan College, sir. You pay for her schooling, apartment in Brooklyn, and the transportation between the cities. She's a dance major."

Tony nodded in approval. Dance; that sounded like something he could get behind. "Alrighty, Rogers, there you have it. Marymount Manhattan College. She should be there tomorrow, since it's Monday. Swing by the tower while you're in town, yeah?"

"I'll see what I can do, Tony. Bye you two." With that, the line clicked off and Steve's identification picture disappeared.

Clint rubbed a hand over his eyes, blinking a couple times and sighing. "Man, what the hell kind of search is he on that requires him to stalk a college kid?"

With a shrug, Tony walked back over to his work table. "Hell if I know. I'm still confused on what exactly it is that he's trying to accomplish."

The two of them went back and forth trying to figure it out until sunrise. Clint barely brought up how much he missed Natasha for the time being, and Tony figured that he should distract himself by playing What-the-actual-hell-is-Rogers-up-to? with the guy more often.


	8. Ambush

"I'm sorry, sir, but this is a private class. You can't be in here."

Andrea looked up from where she and Nova were doing partner stretches to see who it was their teacher was speaking to. Miss Vanderson, their dance instructor, had adopted the stern tone she got when she really wanted to obtain authority. A slight feat, considering she taught a class of mostly nineteen to twenty one year olds who she tended to regard in a friendly manner more than in a respect-thy-elders sort of way, but she managed it for whoever was trying to get into the class.

As it turned out, it was Steve Rogers, a man Andrea had convinced herself she wouldn't be seeing for a second time after the dinner fiasco when she'd been pretty distracted by the thought of Bucky. Why he'd even bother hunting her down again was way beyond her understanding, but, hey, there he was.

It was strange to see him standing there in her classroom doorway, so tall and golden haired and extremely Captain America like. The sight almost gave her some weird sense her stomach, like she should be worried about what it meant that he was there.

At that moment, he caught her gaze and pushed passed Miss Vanderson, much to the young teacher's dismay. "Sir," she tried, putting extra emphasis into the words. "Please, I can't have you in here while class is in session."

Steve, looking like he really wanted to apologize, cast those thoughts aside in favor of speaking to Andrea. "Can I speak to you? Please? It'll take two seconds, I swear."

Andrea looked at Nova, whose facial expression clearly said that if she didn't go with Steve Rogers at that precise moment then her friendship wod be disowned, then at Miss Vanderson, who really just seemed like she wanted Steve out of the class because the girls were staring and making highly suggestive comments in hushed tones to one another. What was a girl to do?

Eventually, with a request for forgiveness towards her teacher and a collective gasp of shock from her classmates, Andrea followed Steve out into the hall and waited for him to get on with whatever it was he needed to speak to her about. At first, he just stared at her, looking her over in a way that seemed to be pulling her apart and assessing something that was there. "I'm sorry for pulling you out of class," he began, and Andrea immediately shook her head to offer him a small smile.

"No, it's okay. We weren't really doing anything important anyway." A complete lie, one designed to make Steve feel better. With it being May 6th and summer approaching at an alarming rate, Miss Vanderson's class was working on partnered dancing for the end of the year showcase. If Andrea could impress the agents that would be in the audience during her performance, she'd no doubt be offered a job as a dancer as soon as she managed to graduate college.

That was another thing that confused her classmates about the fact that she'd managed to snag a Stark scholarship; the process was that you got one, you went to school for however long your major required, and once you got out, it was straight to Stark Industries. Unfortunately, there was no performing arts branch available for her to work at, so she was left to fend for herself.

Steve smiled a little, his hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. It seemed, with a substantial amount of effort, he was trying not to be completely awkward about the situation. "So, uh, listen," he started, clearing his throat and licking his lips, "I'm not quite sure how to say this. You're probably going to have a... lot of questions, but I need you to know and I'm hoping that you could possibly help me."

The tensity of his words brought a funny sort of feeling into her stomach, and she decided that it would be best to remain silent and just watch while he took his wallet out of his pocket. Flipping it open, Steve pulled a black and white picture, one that was seriously roughed up around the edges, from one of the slots. "I just... I need you to see. It's important."

In the photo, Steve was staring intently down at a piece of paper, perhaps a game plan for his Commandos, given the fact that he was surrounded be several items that looked strictly military, including the slightly out of focus man in the background holding many guns and sporting a camouflage hat. To Steve's left, flaunting a devil-may-care grin and a wicked sort of amused glint in his eyes, was a familiar brunet man, caught in the middle of laughter of the likes Andrea had never seen before. Her heart warmed at how absolutely carefree he looked in the picture, but ice was beginning to creep into her veins at what she saw.

"That's..." It took her a moment before being able to complete her thought, and the expression on Steve's face said he didn't blame her. "That isn't possible; he was born in 1988, he told me so. His... My God, it's literally his birthday _today_ , we're celebrating tonight. How is he... how do you have this picture?"

Steve sighed. "I know this seems crazy, but you have to believe me. Bucky was my best friend back before the war-"

" _You_ ," Andrea interjected, the realization hitting her almost as hard as the drunk man from the first time she'd met Bucky had. His words from the morning after he'd patched her up filtered back to her, and suddenly, she found that there was some weird sense of clarity to Steve's claim. "You're the boy he was talking about."

His brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't understand. Bucky told you about me?"

How could she not have realized it before? She'd literally rea everything about Captain America that she could get her hands on in middle school. "I- yeah, sorta, but he didn't come outright and say it, he just-" Andrea had to let herself breathe.

Bucky Barnes, it seemed, was a clever little bastard.

"Listen," she tried, substantially calmer, "he met me while some dude attacked me in an alley and later he told me that I reminded him of some kid who was always getting into trouble-"

"You were attacked in an alley?" Steve's voice was a few octaves higher than it should have been.

"Yeah, but it's okay, he helped me. Anyways, when we got back to my house and he'd cleaned me up, I said thank you the next morning and-"

"You let a guy you'd just met _stay the night?"_ It almost looked like Steve was about to burst a vein. Andrea would have laughed if she weren't trying to tell him something.

Making a disgruntled sort of noise, she stressed on. "Yes, Steve, but that's _not_ the point. He told me he used to save some kid that used to be his friend all the time from stuff like that. I didn't realize he meant you."

It sort of made sense, if she thought about it. The way Bucky would make very vague comments about his life before meeting her, the way he'd been so, _so_ confused about why coffee was sweet and cold, why he didn't know anything about Brooklyn even though he claimed to have been born there. He had been, just not in the modern times that she had. Andrea looked back at Steve. She understood then, why he had seemed so determined to speak with her, not only when he'd been trying to get her out of class, but also when he'd eaten dinner with her.

"You're trying to get him to come back," she murmured, gaze softening. "You want to see him again. Why don't... why don't you just talk to him?"

"Well, it's not for lack of effort, believe me." A sort of disappointed glaze dimmed Steve's eyes. Something about it tugged at Andrea's heart, and she found that she sympathized greatly with the man that stood before her. "The last time I tried talking to him, he ran away and went straight for you. At first I thought it was just because he needed someone to be with as reassurance that I wouldn't cause a scene, but that doesn't seem to be the case with you. You're... special to him.

"Listen, I know you don't know me that well, Alexandrea, but I need your help. Please. He's my best friend. I'll do anything you want, I swear but, I just-" He seemed to realize his words were growing more intense as he went along, so he cut himself off and took a deep breath.

Andrea recognized the look on his face; it was the same one she used to get when she was still hoping that she could somehow get her father back after his death. The difference, however, was that Steve? Steve had a chance.

So that was why, when she should have been getting back to her classroom and letting Steve go, she instead walked down the hallway to the stairs with him and asked, "What can I do to help?

\--

_Happy birthday, Bucky!! Come over to my place in 20?_

It took Bucky minutes to realize that he'd told Sasha his actual birthday the morning after he'd met her, and once he got over the temporary paralysis that had been brought on by the sudden shock , he berated himself for the stupid provision of information. Granted, he was pretty much fine with Sasha knowing small things about him like that now that he knew her, but having given her the fact before he knew whether he could trust her had been a mistake. After sending her a text that said he'd be there, he got up to shower and prepare.

As the steaming water hit his back and rolled down his body, he found that not even the steam curling up to the ceiling and the scorching temperature of the motel shower could bring his focus away from the small feeling of tightness in his chest. Slightly unusual, as Bucky's fascination with scalding showers had steadily increased with each one he took; every time he got out of one, he wasn't even the least bit cold. It was like liquid fire, and it was heaven.

When the feeling in his chest still hadn't receded after he'd gotten out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, he decided to chalk it up to, well, excitement. It was his birthday tomorrow, and Sasha would be celebrating his turning twenty six with him. God, he hadn't had the luxury of celebrating his birthday properly in decades, even a few years before he'd been drafted for the military. He'd joined shortly after turning twenty three; the last birthday Bucky remembered being able to afford celebrating was his twentieth.

For a moment, the memory was clear as day. He was in some of the nicer clothes he owned, slacks and a dress shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He always rolled his sleeves because the dames he met always seemed to like it, always gave him the attentive wide eyed gaze of a girl looking at a guy she thought looked well. His hair was also done up a little, combed and slicked, but in a way that was intentionally messy. The girls didn't need to think that he was trying _too_ hard.

Beside him, Steve was struggling to keep pace on account of his short legs, and Bucky had to remind himself to slow his stride to half his regular one. Steve had also attempted to dress nice for the occasion, though the suit jacket, which had originally belonged to Mr. Rogers, hung off his skinny frame and swamped him as though he were wearing a burlap sack instead. Steve turned his face to Bucky and smiled, running a hand through his hair and succeeding in messing it up. "You ready, Buck?"

Bucky shrugged and rubbed at the back of his neck absently. "I'm not so sure this is such a great idea, buddy. Can't we just go back to my place and spend my birthday there?" There, he thought, the request wasn't too strange or out of character. Bucky had always been one for going out and chatting up dames and having fun, but he preferred celebrating things such as birthdays and holidays at home, with people he cared about and loved.

That, and his younger sisters had been pretty put out that they couldn't join Bucky and Steve at the bar, particularly because they were all under the age of eighteen.

The look he got back from Steve was one that he knew well, and upon receiving it, he could tell there would be no arguing. "C'mon, Bucky, you turned twenty! We should get out a little more, yeah? What are you so worried about? I won't let anyone hurt you."

"It's not _me_ I'm worried about," Bucky muttered under his breath as Steve opened the door to the bar and ushered his friend inside. Well, that was it. No changing Steve's mind after that.

Needless to say, the night had gone exactly as Bucky had expected it to. He and Steve sat in the bar awhile, sipping on beer - he'd limited Steve to one, because not only was he a total lightweight, but he also remembered going to a doctor's visit with Steve and the doctor saying something about alcohol triggering asthmatic attacks - and having a good time. They were sitting at the bar counter, laughing with each other, and on Steve's right, sitting one stool away, was a girl with dark skin getting picked on by a guy twice her size.

Steve had noticed before Bucky had, and once he'd realized what was going on, he'd stood up and rounded to the girl's other side, where the guy was. "Hey, you got a problem, pal?" Needless to say, everything from that point on would go rapidly down hill.

Before he could even think about helping Steve, which was Bucky's priority, he had to get the girl away from there fast. Though he knew he'd be yelling at his best friend for getting into yet another spat with a guy bigger than him, he knew Steve's intentions had been in the right place. Bucky didn't much care for the pro-segregators, and anyways, she seemed like a perfectly nice gal.

"Miss," he said softly, and saw the girl visibly flinch, though he didn't know if it was because she thought he was there to cause her harm or because of the racial slurs slipping out of the offending man's mouth. Honestly, he was surprised Steve hadn't gotten himself punched yet. "My name's James Barnes, okay? What's yours?"

"Emily," she said, concentrating hard on her hands. That was all he got; no last name. Though, she seemed shaken, so it was understandable.

"Okay, well let's get you out of here, Emily. Yeah?" She simply nodded and stood, keeping her head down as she allowed Bucky to gently take her hand and lead her out of the bar. When he said, "I'm going to go and get my friend out of there, okay? Just wait here, I'll be right back." she didn't acknowledge that she'd even heard him, and so he had to assume that she'd wait while he went back for Steve.

Bucky shook his head, his newly shortened hair flinging water droplets onto his shoulders, and tried to blink the vivid memory away. That birthday, he remembered, had been one of the more eventful ones. Steve had, in fact, gotten himself punched in the face several times by the man he'd tried to fend off, the girl named Emily had not been outside once Bucky had managed to drag Steve away from the fight, and it had been the umpteenth day that Bucky's three younger sisters had gotten to practice their nursing skills.

Dressing as nice as he could - which meant he was wearing black jeans and a white button up shirt that he'd borrowed from Sasha's brother, plus the combat boots he couldn't find the heart to replace - and grabbing his cellphone from the bedside table, he left his apartment and began the walk to Sasha's building. Still, there was a feeling he couldn't place, though this one was different from the one he'd had in the shower. A little less daunting, and a bit more... well. The feeling was almost too human for him.

No more than ten minutes had passed when he'd gotten out of the elevator on Sasha's floor, and a sense of giddy excitement was building in his chest. It would be a lie to say that he didn't like to spend time with Sasha; hell, she was practically his only companion in this century, and she was certainly the only person he was willing to sleep in the same room with, on the nights that she invited him to stay the night. As far as he knew, he was the only male she'd ever allowed to share a bed with her in recent times. Whether or not that was of any significance to their relationship, he wasn't quite sure, but it certainly felt like it might be.

And, if it was, what did that mean for them? They weren't dating, their relationship wasn't like that. At least, he _thought_ it wasn't. Bucky had never kissed her, not even on the cheek, but there were times when he found himself hovering near her on the days they ventured out into public and times when he became very protective of her. At first he thought it might annoy her and had made plans to work on it, until he'd noticed she did the exact same thing with him. Sasha would remain close to him, lean on him, give him great big doe eyes, play with his hair. She'd even shot a dirty look to a girl that had been, more or less, sizing him up in public. Bucky had found all of this slightly amusing and more than a little interesting.

Maybe he should just talk to her about it.

But, then again, maybe not.

His pondering, along with his good mood, was put to an end when he reached Sasha's door. It looked the same as it always did, every time he visited and knocked and she allowed him to enter. The difference this time around, however, was that it was slightly ajar. That was something she'd never let happen; while Sasha was a fairly careless person, she was paranoid enough to keep her door locked and bolted at all times.

Which, of course, meant that something was wrong.

Quietly extending an arm forward, he slowly pushed the door open just enough so that he could get inside. Everything looked calm, though, being a trained assassin, he knew how deceiving looks could really be. No, Bucky knew better; there would be no calm in this place, especially not if the circumstance involved him.

A quick scan of the living area showed nothing of much importance, although there was broken glass and an overturned lamp on the floor. The short hallway leading to the bedrooms and bathroom was at it always was, and looking at the kitchenette, one of the barstools that were positioned in front of the island counter lay on its side. His fingers itched to grab the knife he'd strapped to his shin, concealed under his pant leg.

Bucky couldn't hear much aside from his breathing. Well, his breathing and the short, ragged gasp that came from the opposite side of the kitchen counter. He moved forward quickly and silently, a sick feeling knotting into his stomach, one eerily similar to the feeling he'd gotten while in the shower, and slowly peered around the counter's edge.

The sight that lay before him nearly shut him down entirely. Thinking he should be used to things like this by now, he was surprised when bile began attempting to make it's way up through his throat.

Just like that, everything began crashing down around him, everything he'd worked so hard to distance himself from came whirling right back into place. This was his fault. All of this, everything, was because he had no self control. He should have tried harder; Jesus, he should have left that poor girl he'd met in the alleyway as soon as he'd saved her. Perhaps, if he'd done that, she wouldn't be where she was now, and he wouldn't be wanting to kill something or someone or even himself because it wouldn't have been his fault.

This was, though, and there was absolutely no getting away from that. It was his fault, it was all his fault. If he'd demonstrated self control, if he'd been able to stop himself, tell that god forsaken girl no, even just once... then she wouldn't be lying on her kitchen floor, lacerations covering any visible skin, and blood wouldn't be staining her clothes, matting in her hair, or pooling around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long with this one, but I've just been so busy with school and theatre! Enjoy!


	9. ER 9-1-1

Sasha's phone was ringing and it wouldn't stop.

As Bucky stood there, temporarily paralyzed and wondering how he should proceed about the situation and what to do and who the hell would be sick enough to go this far just to hurt him, the ringing kept going, and going, and _going_. It wouldn't stop. It kept vibrating and buzzing and just filling the room with such an inappropriate noise that he picked it up from where it lay on the counter. Though he knew the importance of the situation, that if he didn't get Sasha to a hospital immediately she could die, he couldn't help but glance at the screen to see what was setting it off.

The answers to who had done this and why resided on Sasha's phone screen. A text had been repeatedly sent over and over again from a blocked number:

_Happy birthday Mr. Barnes. Did you receive our message?_

He knew well enough to know that the message they were referring to hadn't been the text. Closing his eyes and yelling, he threw the phone across the room and didn't wait to hear the sound of shattering glass before kneeling down to attend to Sasha.

Blood was everywhere. On her skin, in her hair, the floor. It seemed he couldn't touch anything without getting it on his body. She'd been here for a while, then; her cuts weren't deep enough to cause a lot of blood loss individually, but as there were so many of them on her body at the same time that had gone unstitched, the end result could be completely disastrous. When they made it to the hospital, she'd more than likely need a blood transfusion. Several, perhaps.

He was almost afraid to touch her, for fear of causing her pain, but he had to check how aware she was of her surroundings. Still; it needed to be done. This was life or death for her, and he'd do his damnedest to make sure her outcome was life.

"Sashen'ka, are you awake?" There was a moment of silence between his fingers gently but persistently tapping her face, as it seemed to be the only area that wasn't completely wounded, his question, and the flutter of her eyelids. She'd been conscious when they'd done this to her, then. They'd wanted to make her suffer.

She opened her mouth to try and say something, but all that came out was an anguished cry and tears. It seemed as though she'd been hurt down to her very core. Bucky was beginning to see red, and the thought of taking vengeance for her seemed very suddenly appealing.

"It's okay, don't worry, I- I'll call an ambulance, we'll get you to the hospital." Bucky hated hospitals; always had. He used to do anything and everything he could to stay away from them, but he had no choice this time. If Sasha went much longer without professional medical attention, she would most certainly die.

Just as his fingers found the disposable phone in his pocket, Sasha managed a small sound of protest. "N-no," she gasped, eyes fluttering. No? Was she _trying_ to die? "They... w-wanted you... at the hospital..."

"I don't care," he insisted, dialing the number and holding the phone to his ear. "You're... too important. I will _not_ lose you this way. I refuse."

"Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?"

"I need an ambulance," Bucky hissed. "I've got a girl here who's lost a lot of blood." He gave the dispatcher the address of the apartment, then dropped his phone once the call ended. All he could do now was wait, and try to do what little he could for Sasha. "Hey, can you hear me?"

"I..." Jesus, she looked about ready to vomit, or choke, or go into shock, or die. Her skin was quickly losing color, and if he didn't do something fast, as the ambulance would most likely get there a bit too late, there was no doubt that he'd lose her. Quickly yanking on the front of his shirt so that the buttons popped open, he ripped the shirt from his body, leaving him in nothing but his undershirt, and gave himself a moment to analyze her wounds. It seemed as though a large amount of the blood was coming from a cut on her stomach, and so he used a shaking hand to peel back the blood soaked shirt from her abdomen.

What he found was much more horrific than he'd originally expected. It wasn't a cut, or even just a lone laceration. While there was a deep gash just above her belly button, there was one word carved into her flesh in Russian, just under the edge of her ribcage: _Gidra_. They'd only chosen Russian as a sort of cruel joke, one that he found barely even raised a reaction out of him. How could he feel anything after what they'd done to her?

"Okay, Sasha, I need you to breathe," he murmured, grabbing for the dress shirt he'd worn and tearing it in half. God, it was times like this he wished he'd learned more than basic first aid. Hydra had kept him dependent on them by refusing to teach him anything more than what was necessary. While Bucky could efficiently clean cuts and ice bruises, he had no idea how to stitch a wound or stabilize broken bones. He could make a decent tourniquet, a skill he'd picked up from his Commando days and army training, but he doubted that was going to do anything for an abdominal wound. This was how they'd kept him vulnerable; he could dismantle a gun in less than twelve seconds, shoot a man from up to twice as far away as the best sniper known to national intelligence, and could effectively kill a person with his own left hand and no effort, but he could not figure out how to heal a wound.

When you were made to destroy and burn, you had no use for the knowledge of how to protect and nurture.

Using his left hand to hold one of the shirt scraps and the right to grab Sasha's hand, he said, "Okay, I'm going to put pressure on the wound. You're losing most of your blood through the gash on your stomach. Squeeze my hand, okay? It could hurt." He had no idea if pressure would help in this case, but he'd applied pressure on the injuries his sisters used to get when they were younger to stop the bleeding. Granted, those injuries had been scraped knees and scratched faces, not intentionally inflicted abdominal stabbings.

Whether the pressure helped or not, it was hard to tell. As soon as he pressed down, Sasha squeezed tightly on his fingers, knuckles whitening, and let out a sharp cry of agony. She coughed a little, and then a lot, and a few small flecks of blood came spraying out of her mouth. That, most definitely, should not have been happening.

Her scream broke something in him, somewhere in his mind, awoke some sort of power that demolished the psychological dam he'd created sometime ago. Bucky wasn't sure how it happened or why, but one moment he was just breaking and going numb inside, and the next there were tears in his eyes. Actual tears. The sort that hadn't surfaced for decades.

"Bucky, Bucky," she gasped, writhing and crying. Her lip trembled, and she was beginning to shake all over. "I'm so sorry, I- I thought, when they... thought it was you. I'm s-sorry..."

"Hey, hey," he murmured, tears falling freely down his face, "you don't have anything to apologize for. You just keep breathing, and stay awake. Focus on that."

Bucky couldn't quite figure out how long he was on that bloodied floor before the paramedics came. At first he couldn't register why it was they were there or who they were, and the only reason he didn't coil to attack was because he was still holding that rag of a shirt to Sasha's stomach. Once they explained they would help and that he could ride along in the ambulance with them, though, he got himself moving out of their way and let go of Sasha's hand.

By that time, she wasn't quite strong enough to hold onto him anymore.

\--

"Do you know what's going on?" Sam asked as he and Steve pulled into the parking garage of the hospital's emergency wing.

Really, he'd been provided with a very small amount of information. All he knew was that one minute he'd been reading in the hotel room he and Steve shared and the next Steve's phone had gone off twice before he'd finally answered it. It had been Alexandrea, that much he'd managed to gather from Steve's frantic insistence that she tell him what was wrong and just try to breathe. A scream, one of the ones that Sam hadn't heard since, well, his military days sounded from the line and from that point on, they'd driven from the hotel to Andrea's apartment, and from there to the hospital once they saw EMTs.

"No, I don't," Steve answered, taking his key from the ignition and all but jumping out of the car. Sam noticed that he looked genuinely upset. Not that he himself wasn't; Andrea was a lovely person, quirky and smiley, and he didn't want to see any harm to come to her, especially not if his theory proved to be right once Natasha got him that file. It seemed that Steve's emotions, however, were on a completely different level, almost as though he felt... guilty? "Whatever it is, it can't be good, not if she was screaming like that. I just wanna make sure she's not-" Steve cut himself off. He wouldn't allow the word to drop from his mouth.

They entered the hospital in a great hurry, and were informed that yes, a girl by the name of Alexandrea Jamison had in fact been checked in and was undergoing emergency surgery for internal bleeding in what they believed to be the stomach cavity. An exploratory laparotomy, Sam heard the nurse say. Andrea wouldn't be ready for visitors for another two to four hours, and even then, only immediate family members would be allowed. He'd tried to suggest to Steve that maybe they should just make a trip back to the ER tomorrow, but Steve was adamant that they stay.

"I just need to make sure that she didn't get hurt because someone noticed us tracking her," Steve insisted. While it was most likely part of the reason, Sam didn't believe that it was the whole one. In any case, it didn't matter. They would stay, and they would wait.

Maybe an hour and a half into their time in the waiting room, Sam grew restless and stood. He wasn't much for sitting still long periods of time; he'd always been like that, always had a thing about his limbs falling asleep. God, he hated that feeling of tingling. "I'm gonna head to the bathroom," he informed Steve.

Steve nodded, and though he wasn't in the best of moods, he still managed to say, "Don't take forever. If you're not back in an hour, I'll know where you'll be, and I don't think anyone in the hospital will appreciate the line outside the bathroom."

"Says the guy with the bladder of a ninety five year old grandpa," Sam shot back. He laughed and watched Steve roll his eyes before walking away.

The bathroom hadn't been too far from the waiting room, and despite Steve's joke, Sam didn't take long before exiting again. There was a difference in hotel bathrooms and hospital bathrooms. Hotel bathrooms were the type that he felt he could justify lingering in, the ones that made him wanna stay for five minutes or an hour. Hospital bathrooms kind of just freaked him out, as did anything else having to do with a hospital. Sam really didn't like hospitals.

He'd just been about to turn down the hall that would take him back to the waiting area when he heard, coming from beside the bathroom door, "Hey, stranger. Long time, no see."

Sam jumped a little, having forgotten just how stealthy Natasha could be. She was definitely the most dramatic assassin he knew. Actually, at that point, she was technically the only assassin he knew personally, but that wasn't what mattered. "Nat," Sam greeted, taking in her black converse and her T-shirt for some band he'd never heard of, "looking as inconspicuous as ever."

"Really? I'm not even trying." She flipped her hair and held onto the one strap of the backpack that she had slung over her shoulder with one hand. "These are regular civilian clothes. Anyway, what are you and Rogers doing in the Emergency Room? I thought we'd at least be able to meet up at, like, a park or something."

A park. That would have been nice. Easy. Totally wouldn't have freaked him out as much as it did that they were at the hospital, but he'd deal with what he'd been given. "The girl whose file I asked you for?" He waited for Natasha to nod so he knew she was aware of who he was speaking about. "Something happened to her. Called Steve a little while ago and started screaming. We wanted to make sure she was okay."

Natasha nodded again, and brought her backpack around to her front. "I see. Speaking of that," she continued, unzipping the pack and pulling out a thick manilla envelope, "here's what you asked for."

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "Damn. I mean, I knew you being here must have meant that you'd gotten it, but you said you'd be away for a little while longer. I thought you'd take at least another week or two."

"Yeah, well, I figured it was about time I headed home." Her fingers absentmindedly grabbed at the pendant of an arrow she wore around her neck, and her face grew a bit fonder with memory. "I miss Clint, and everyone else, and that was actually an easy file to find."

Easy? "What do you mean, Nat?" Sam asked, brow furrowing in confusion. With how common a name Alexandrea Jamison was bound to be, he figured it might pose some difficulty. Granted, Nat was kind of a whiz when it came to searching people and their information, and she'd had the fact that she was looking for someone who'd lived in only Brooklyn her entire life, but still. Alexandrea had to be up their on the list of most common names with Ashley and Amanda.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean what do I mean? You asked for an American Citizen's file on the illegitimate daughter of Alexander Pierce. She was, like, the third name that popped up on the database of S.H.I.E.L.D intelligence that I dumped onto the internet. I thought it'd be awhile before I gathered everything together, but Google works wonders. I just had to print it all out."

Illegitimate daughter. Alexander pierce. Nothing in the world was unconnected, ever, was it?

Sam let his gaze meet Natasha's very, very slowly. If what she was saying was true, then it changed things a little. More than a little, actually. "Natasha, you be straight with me. You're telling me that the twenty year old girl Steve and I have been tracking for the last month is actually Alexander Pierce's love child?"

Inclining her head, Natasha answered, "More or less, yeah. But..." She scrunched her eyes out of confusion and took another step closer to Sam. "Is that _not_ why you wanted her file? I figured you and Steve were trying to figure out some stuff about Hydra-"

"Steve doesn't even know that I asked you for this," Sam interrupted, a hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Holy _shit_. It was a completely plausible theory, one that apparently was a fact. Alexandrea was biracial, a fact he and Steve had easily found out about on her school records. If Alexander Pierce was her father, then her mother must have been African American. While it was a surprise that her biological father had happened to be the now deceased ring leader of some crazy nazi anti new world cult, it didn't much change anything. "The reason's a little bit more personal. It's not even that big of a deal."

Raising her eyebrow, Natasha pressed, "In my line of work, anything that's not a big deal usually turns out to be one. Look, I'm not gonna lie, I read that file. There's a lot of stuff on her in there, but she's not a bad person. Never hurt anybody, never got in trouble with the law. Hell, most kids get at least an MIP their first year of college or senior year of high school, but not this one." Sam saw Natasha's eyes grow fiery, almost protective. "Is this girl in trouble, Wilson?"

Aside from the trouble she already seemed to have gotten into on account of she was in the hospital getting emergency abdominal surgery to end internal bleeding? What an excellent question. "I'm not entirely sure."

"Why are you tracking her? What's so important about her, aside from what you didn't know?"

Sam figured Steve wouldn't mind if he enlightened Natasha to their situation. She might agree to help them out, if they were lucky. "Steve's buddy, Bucky. We were trying to track him down so Steve could talk to him, and about a month and a half ago, we found him here in Brooklyn. Trouble was, he spotted us and ran straight for Alexandrea. From what we've seen, he's been with her every day since. We're not really sure of their relationship." Sam paused, a thought occurring to him. "Do you think he knows who she is?"

"I really doubt it," Natasha responded, giving a thoughtful look. "He was trying to get away from Hydra, not create new ties. I don't even think the girl knows who she is; there are a couple of adoption papers in that envelope. She's never had contact with her biological parents."

"Pierce never contacted her?" Natasha's look seemed almost bitter. "Please. Pierce was married and had a biological daughter with his wife, both of whom were Caucasian. Alexandrea's only half. Whoever her mother was, it wasn't his wife. He must not have wanted anyone knowing that he'd had an affair."

"I have to tell Steve," Sam muttered, rubbing a fist over his eyes and shaking his head. His complicated situation had just gotten a lot more complicated.

"I'll scout the hospital, make sure the building's secure," Natasha declared, tossing her hair over her shoulder. It looked like fire, the way the fluorescent lights caught it. "Make sure there aren't any stray Hydra agents that are planning on finishing the job." After a moment's hesitation, she added, "Sam?"

"Yeah, Nat?" Sam asked, offering her a questioning gaze.

"I read the file. I understand why you want it." Another hesitation. Sam remembered that Natasha was not the best at emotional support or advice, but was a wise soul nonetheless. "You should tell her. I think she'd be happy to know."

With that, she walked off, leaving Sam with a sort of new respect in his mind. With a slight smile, he hugged the envelope close to his chest and made his way back to where he knew Steve was waiting.

\--

" _Pochemu ty vse yeshche zdes'_?"

Bucky stiffened, curling his hands into fists where he'd shoved them into his jeans. None of the doctors, nurses, or people asking for directions had spoken anything but English when addressing him. Sure, people had their own native languages, and one of the men asking for directions to the bathroom had had a very heavy accent, but even still. Bucky knew he looked like an American. He knew people would assume English was the language he spoke.

He also knew that the only people who would speak to him in Russian were those that recognized him, meaning that whoever was standing behind him could be potentially dangerous. Really, he wasn't in the mood for this.

Slowly turning around, he found himself faced with a red headed woman, slightly short in stature but making up for it with her commanding gaze. _Natalia Romanova_ , a voice in the back of his mind said. That same voice translated what she'd said to him: _Why are you still here?_

"A better question would be why you're even here at all," Bucky snapped, hand itching toward the knife strapped to his calf, concealed under his pant leg. Surely she wouldn't start a scene in the hospital of all places, would she? It was far too similar to one of her past transgressions, one the government surely had to be keeping an eye on her for. Still; seeing her made him just the tiniest bit antsy, and rightfully so.

Switching into English, Natalia rolled her eyes and held her palms forward, slowly taking steps towards him. She stopped about a foot away from him, most likely just to show that she wasn't currently making any attempts at hostility. "Settle down now, soldier, there's no need to get excited." With her chin, she gestured toward the hall that Bucky was waiting just outside of, the one that they'd taken Sasha down, strapped to a gurney, so that they could get her into emergency surgery. "She's down that way?"

Bucky's first reaction was to remain silent and not say a word, to just keep staring at Natalia expectantly until she told him what she wanted. For some reason, though, he found that he didn't want to do that. Every now and then, memories from his past would come back to him, and he'd recently remembered that he'd been something of a mentor to Natalia. He'd taught her many things about being an assassin; hell, he'd shown her most everything she knew. This made him feel as though there was at least a small amount of trust he could give to her. He _knew m_ her, after all. If anything, that was why he found himself crossing his arms over his chest and opening up his stance to something less defensive.

"Yes," he answered, tone clipped and cold. Sure, he'd known Natalia before. That didn't mean he was in a mood to be friendly or nostalgic. "They started her surgery three hours ago, and they told me she'd be transferred into the ICU once she was stable, just to keep a better eye on her. She won't die."

Most people would have found that information comforting more than grim. While it brought him a sort of relief to know that Sasha wouldn't be dying at the hands of Hydra, it made him feel sick to know that it was because they hadn't _wanted_ her to. They very well could have killed her; they knew it, so did he, and somehow it seemed that Natalia had come across the information as well. Hydra _could_ have killed Sasha, but they'd chosen not to. _Chosen_. He could read the unwritten message that the attack had sent: the only reason she wasn't dead was because _they_ were allowing it. It wasn't an accident, it wasn't luck, or fate, or anything like that. It wasn't even _mercy_. It was a message. He knew it, Natalia knew it.

They _all_ knew it.

Despite having the knowledge that she was already treading some pretty testy waters, Natalia gently asked, "Why do you stay, then? I know you feel guilty about what happened to her. Believe it or not, I went through the same thing once, with a man I'd met. Don't you think it would be best to leave her?"

Bucky carefully trained his gaze on Natalia, listening to her words, then replying, "Is that what you thought was best for your man?"

She nodded, meeting Bucky's eyes with her own. There was an unseen world of emotion in that stare alone. "I did, yes. They... performed an attack that was very similar to the one they performed on Alexandrea. They didn't want me having any emotional attachments."

"And what did they do?" he pressed forward, half sure he knew what her answer would be. "After you left, what did they do to your man?"

Natalia looked away for half a second. The memory, Bucky realized, must still be hurting her, no matter how long ago the actual events had taken place. "They killed him," she mumbled, teeth catching at her lip. He'd figured as much.

Because, yes, while the attacks performed on their emotional attachments were more of a warning than anything, Bucky never failed to see them for what they really were: games. They started off watching, then they made their first move, which was a threat in, say, the form of a note taped to a rock and thrown at a window. Then, after some time had passed, they went into the first maneuver, which would be the attack. Natalia had left the person she'd grown to care about in the hospital; Hydra had seen it as a forfeit and therefor had no reason not to kill him. As Bucky was staying, they would see it as a sign that he was willfully continuing with their agenda.

"If I leave... they will kill her," he whispered gruffly, "and I will not have that. I _can't_ have that. She's just a kid, she's barely even lived at all. She's too much of a positive light in this world to lose, and I won't let them hurt her anymore. I need to stay with her so that I can protect her."

Natalia gave a quick nod of her head. " _Preuspet' tam, gde ya ne sdelal_." A comforting message, one that he was surprised to see she was giving him: _succeed where I did not_.

It was Bucky's turn to nod. "I plan to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's finally on break? This giiiiirl! I should be able to update at least a few more times in the next couple of days, so look forward to that! I'm loving the responses that the story's getting, so hopefully this chapter furthered your interest a little.


	10. Brother Mine

Waking up in the hospital with no memory of any previous events was a pretty fucking scary experience for anyone to go through, especially if the last thing they could remember was happily planning out a birthday celebration for the friend that they were sort-of-kind-of-maybe-a-lot interested in. Which is exactly how Andrea woke up, dazed and confused, with an IV tap connected to the vein in her wrist.

Upon first opening her eyes, she found that everything in the room before her was white and sterile on a disorienting level. It took her sight several minutes to adjust, and even then, she found she was still rapidly blinking. That, paired with the aching and stinging she felt all over her body, really drove home the fact that something had gone terribly wrong.

A knock sounded from the door and in came a woman dressed in brightly colored nurse scrubs, smiling at her. "You're awake," she observed, coming over to stand near Andrea. Andrea found that the tag pinned to the woman's shirt labeled her Julia. "That's very reassuring. I'm just here to check on your progress."

Andrea blinked a few times and carefully maneuvered her head to get a better look at Julia. There seemed to be a dull ache in the back of her skull, and if she moved too suddenly, it grew increasingly worse. "Where am I?" she asked, noting that it was a bit difficult to get past the fatigue and sluggishness that was no doubt brought on by a medicinal drug haze.

"You're in the hospital, dear," Julia answered, adjusting one of the beeping machines beside the bed. "You were checked in last night and immediately placed in emergency surgery."

Andrea's eyes widened out of shock. She'd been admitted into surgery? Was that why her stomach felt so tender? Gently moving the arm that wasn't connected to any tubes or wires, she used her hand and ran her fingers over her stomach. Sure enough, she could feel rigid bumps underneath the flimsy hospital gown, but she couldn't work out whether they were stitches or the healing skin itself. "I was in s-surgery? Why? What happened?"

Julia gave her an apologetic smile. "Well, I'm not sure how it happened, but when the ambulance arrived, you'd been suffering from extreme blood loss and a major stab wound to your stomach. The police believe it was a randomized gang attack; they carved some sort of word into your skin. Your fiancé was very worried."

" _Fiancé? Excuse_ me?" Even if she'd been knocked out due to pain and surgery, she _certainly_ knew there wasn't anyone who should be claiming they were engaged to her. "I don't think I understand."

At this statement, Julia's face grew worried, and in a very serious way. "You... you don't remember having a fiancé? The poor boy's been pacing around the hallway for hours, he was so worried about you. He said his name was James?"

James. It was just Bucky, then. He must have told them he was her fiancé for visitation rights; Andrea vaguely remembered that anyone outside of immediate family was limited in their rights, so telling the doctor that they were engaged must have been a knee jerk response. He really _had_ to have been worried about her, then.

"Oh, right," Andrea sighed, using her free hand to rub at her eyes. "Do you think I can see him? I know how upset he gets when he's worried."

Julia inclined her head in thought, then gave a small shrug. "Sure. I don't see why it would be a problem. I'll just go and get him, and you try not to get too excited while he's around, okay? You still need rest."

After nodding that she understood, Andrea watched Julia leave the room and gently close the door behind her. A few moments later, it reopened, and in came Bucky.

She started to say something, but paused once she caught sight of his face. It wasn't exactly an identifiable feeling, but something seemed... off. No. Not _off,_ per se, but definitely different. There were bags under his eyes and a hollow sort of expression inhabiting his face, along with posture as rigid as a steel pole. Aside from all of that, though he just looked _different_. She'd never seen him look the way he did while appraising her in that moment after he'd shut the door, hadn't seen him look so _worried_. All of this was made to be even more astounding when he did what he did next.

"Oh my _god_ , Sashen'ka," he whispered brokenly, swiftly striding forward and stopping to bend down so that he was at her height. Gently, he placed his hands on either side of her face and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. Really, she'd never known that he could possibly be so tender. "I am so, so sorry. This is all my fault, I should have... I should have _told_ you, I-"

"Hey," she intervened, leaning her head back so she could look at his face properly. His eyes, always so bright and blue, looked almost like the color of ice. "Listen, I don't know what you're talking about right now; probably because I can't remember the accident, which would be on account of the drugs they're pumping into my body, but I am ninety nine percent sure that you had nothing to do with any of it. Can you tell me that you did this to me?"

He shook his head, standing back to his full height and running a few fingers through his hair. "Well, no, but I'm the entire reason they attacked you. They wanted to hurt me, and so to do that, they went for you."

Andrea sighed, shaking her head. She knew who it was that he referred to when he kept mentioning 'they' and hated that she had to pretend that she didn't know the strangers he kept talking about. Steve had told her all about Bucky's previous affiliation with Hydra, and while that didn't explain why they'd attacked her in her own apartment, it did explain why Bucky was feeling so much guilt. All she wanted to do was comfort and tell him that it really hadn't been his fault, that she'd basically _made_ him spend all that time with her, but she couldn't. He didn't know she knew, and so she had to wait.

Instead, she mumbled, "I don't know who you're talking about, Bucky." Probably if he'd been in a less chaotically self blaming mood, he'd have noticed how terribly false her sentence had sounded, but he only nodded and allowed his right hand to grab hers. The way he squeezed it, she would have thought he was holding onto a life line. In a way, she supposed he was.

"I think it's time," he whispered, batting a tear Andrea hadn't noticed. That was new. She'd never even thought about Bucky being someone who cried, well... ever. "I think it's time that I tell you... the truth. About me, about my life, about everything."

Offering him a tentative smile, Andrea closed her eyes a moment and breathed deeply. Oddly enough, a feeling of happiness clouded her mind, along with all the other feelings swirling around in there. Bucky was finally choosing to be honest with her of his own accord, and though she'd already heard his story, she hadn't already heard it from _him_.

"Okay," she murmured, a tiny smile playing at her tired face. She opened her eyes and let her gaze rest on Bucky. "Whenever you're ready."

\--

"She's my _baby sister_ , mother, did you really think I wasn't going to visit her? She almost _died_."

"I didn't _say_ that, young man, don't you _dare_ give me that tone. All I meant was that you said you were too busy with your tramp girlfriend to have me visit, so I find it surprising that you could make the time to come and visit Alexandrea."

"Jesus Christ, mother, Rosella is my _wife_ , and she's not a tramp! Can you honestly blame us for not having you over when you talk about her like that? And I know it might be a little challenging for you to comprehend, but when my sister is on the verge of _dying_ , I can find more than enough time to come see her in the hospital. I'm willing to bet the only reason you're even _here_ is because you were already in the city."

The arguing outside the door had been going on for at least the last five minutes, and honestly, Bucky was getting a little sick of having to listen to the people constantly go back and forth with each other. He easily recognized that the woman's voice was that of Sasha's mother, but he couldn't place the male's. Going off of the fact that he'd claimed Sasha as his baby sister, however, made it fairly clear that he had to have been that boy in the picture of her when they were young; Calixto, his name had been.

No matter their familial relations to Sasha, Bucky would be tremendously upset if they ended up waking her. He'd finished telling her an in-depth version of everything that had happened to him since the day that he'd 'died' and hadn't felt good about the fact that the story had kept her awake, fighting against the drugs in her system. She'd only managed to fall asleep maybe an hour or two ago, and it was already late morning. She needed her rest, and he didn't want them waking her.

Just as he was debating going out into the hall and saying something, he heard Vivian make some remark on how she would be coming back to see her daughter when the present company was a bit more mature, then stalk off. There was a moment of silence after that, and then the door opened. Bucky imagined it would be Calix.

Simple logic never failed him, it seemed. The door closed, and Bucky saw a blond topped figure rush quickly towards Sasha's bed, so quickly that he didn't seem to notice Bucky at all. This, without a doubt, had to be Calix Jamison; going off of the childhood picture that was, to this point, still present on the nightstand in Sasha's guest room, this was the same person aged by ten years. His features were more angled and his skin was lightly tanned, though at the moment he looked a bit under the weather - probably because he'd been up all night making his way into Brooklyn.

He looked down at his sister, smoothing down the hair on the top of her head and looking at her with such a tender, brotherly gaze that it made Bucky momentarily pause. "Oh, Ally," he whispered, "what the hell have you gotten yourself into?"

That sentence. That _one_ sentence managed to dredge up a whole cache of repressed emotions and memories. How many times had he said the same thing to Steve back in the war days? How many times had he had the same look of terror on his face, expressed deep grief in the same way because Steve's dumb ass had put himself into the same position that Sasha was in now, only willingly?

He hadn't even spoken two words to Calix, but Bucky already identified with him beyond belief.

"I suppose this would be as good a time as any to introduce myself," Bucky began quietly, sitting up in his chair and waiting for Calix to respond. The blond whirled around, caught off guard by the unknown voice in the room. His blue eyes locked onto Bucky, at first widening in shock, then narrowing in confusion. "Who the hell are you?" Calix demanded, a certain note of defensiveness in his voice. Admittedly, Bucky understood that concern. He'd had a brief flash of the same mannerism back at the apartment, when the EMTs had come to take Sasha away.

"My name is James," he responded, voice quiet. This was Sasha's brother; there was no need to be defensive with him. "I, uh... I don't know if she told you." Was he supposed to continue the couple charade with Calix? Better to be on the safe side, honestly. "Alexandrea and I are in a relationship. I found her in the apartment, after... the accident."

Calix's face softened, and an understanding expression bloomed across his face. "You're the one who called the ambulance?" Bucky nodded, and Calix gave him a grateful smile. Or, as much of a smile as a man whose baby sister had just been admitted into the hospital for a "randomized gang attack" could give. "Thank you. She's alive right now because of you. The doctors said that if she'd gotten here a few minutes later than she did, she would have bled out."

 _I'm the reason she was bleeding in the first place,_ Bucky thought, but didn't dare say aloud. "I almost didn't," he admitted instead. "I went over to see her and I found her on the floor, just... covered in blood..." He let himself trail off for just a second, the hazy tinge of red from the night before momentarily lacing his vision. Blood. Hurt. Anger. Fear. All of these, one by one, had stabbed him in the gut. "It was shocking, to see her in that position."

Calix wandered over to where Bucky sat and claimed the chair beside him. "Well, thank you for making sure she got here safe. The hospital called me a few hours after she was admitted, and I drove all night to come and see her."

"It could be a while before she's awake again. They were pumping her with drugs and she just fell asleep a little while ago." Mainly because she'd insisted he tell her his life story before he did so, but that was that.

"Doesn't surprise me. Whenever she's in her own bed, she's fine, but hospitals, well... she doesn't like them much."

They sat and talked together, at first making uneasy small talk, then finding a common ground on the subject of Sasha. According to Calix, Sasha had been in and out of hospitals all the time when she was a young girl. Never for anything as violent as this visit, but for simple things; reckless things. A broken arm from falling out of a tree, a broken nose from getting into a fight with another girl in middle school, stitches from slicing her arm open on something.

 _Jesus Christ,_ Bucky thought, _this girl is literally Steve Rogers incarnate._

It was funny that he'd had that thought, actually, because the next subject Calix broached on was the fact that Sasha had practically idolized the guy while growing up. "I was scared she was going to join the Air Force just so she could crash a jet into the arctic," Calix chuckled, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. Bucky decided that when he finally made it back to a friendship with Steve, he was going to have to have a serious chat with him about setting young, impressionable girls out on suicide missions.

Surprisingly enough, he seemed to be getting along well with Sasha's brother. Not that he'd expected to hate the guy or anything; actually, from what he'd heard, Calix sounded like he'd been the only source of comfort and stability in Sasha's life after their father died, and Bucky was grateful for it. Still. He was continuing to get used to the idea that he could get along with others, and that Sasha hadn't been some miraculous stroke of luck, courtesy of the universe.

Around one or two in the afternoon, Sasha woke up from her medicinal sleep, groaning and complaining that the syrup they'd given her had left a nasty taste in her mouth. Upon seeing his sister wake, Calix turned to her and said softly, "Ally?"

Sasha blinked a few times. Then, when she was sure her brother was not a hallucination brought on by the morphine, she smiled and murmured, "Hey, Cal. 'S been awhile, huh?"

Calix, with tears in his eyes, let himself bend down and gently place his arms around his sister, giving her the slightest illusion of a hug. "Yeah. So long that you had enough time to get engaged and forget to tell me about it."

"Oh shit, that's right," she mumbled, eyeing Bucky with curiosity. "When did you decide we were engaged?"

"When the hospital wouldn't let anyone but immediate family into the ICU, because apparently boyfriends aren't heavy duty enough for them." Which, honestly, Bucky thought was a pretty stupid rule. The only difference between a fiancé and a boyfriend was that one was a fancier word.

This, of course, made Calix curious. He glanced between Bucky and Sasha, letting his head tilt slightly. "Wait, so you two aren't engaged? Just dating?"

No, Bucky almost answered. No, they weren't dating, nor did he think they ever could be. While it was true that he'd been contemplating what it would be like to be with Sasha just before finding her after the attack, the very fact that he'd found her like that had sent his mind into a complete panic. It couldn't happen; not while he was still on the run from Hydra, not while he was avoiding the one person he knew could most definitely help him, and not while there was still a chance that Sasha could end up like Natalia's man, whoever he had been.

There were few things Bucky now viewed as precious; Sasha was one of them.

Although, Calix didn't exactly need to know that. Not really. As long as Sasha needed her family to think they were together, and it seemed that she still did, as she confirmed the relationship for her brother, he would indulge her. Bucky knew what the false relationship brought to mind, though. He knew that if they kept playing at it, he'd keep thinking about it, and would eventually want to engage in a real one.

This, of course, would only endanger her further. While it seemed that he'd need to be staying a bit closer to her from now on, just to make sure that nothing like this attack ever took place again, that didn't mean it was safe to... hold her so close. He'd have to show more restraint in the future, because now he knew Hydra was watching. Perhaps if he made them think he was growing distant, they'd begin to contemplate leaving Sasha out of their business with him.

It wasn't the option he liked best, but he'd give anything a shot to keep her safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally, I think it's time for things to get a little fun in the story. Look forward to the next few chapters, we're gonna have some wild rides! Thanks for all the comments and opinions, I hope you enjoy this one!


	11. Sweetness

"Do you want to tell me what's going on with you?" Andrea asked, crossing her arms and doing her best to look serious instead of slightly drowsy. "Or are you just going to keep acting the way you have been without any explanation whatsoever?"

Bucky, who had been sitting on the couch with his eyes closed, instantly shot to his feet. "You aren't supposed to be out of bed," he protested, hands reflexively going for her shoulders but hesitating at the last moment. He paused, gave the slightest shake of his head, almost as though he were chastising himself, and dropped his arms back to his side, both the metal and the flesh.

"That," Andrea cried, "that right there is exactly what I'm talking about! What the hell has gotten into you lately? Why are you acting like this?"

Raising his eyebrows, Bucky gave her a steady look, one that said he really wanted her to go back to her bed and rest, just like the doctor had told her to do. "I don't think I'm acting in any particular way."

That sentence, they both knew, was complete and utter bullshit. Sasha remembered very clearly the way Bucky used to be, always a sarcastic smile on his face and a sad but content light in his eyes. Even when she'd first met him and hadn't managed to crack him out of his shell yet, he hadn't ever been this viciously indifferent. He'd had opinions and smart ass remarks and would actually engage her in a conversation. Now, though? Now it was as though he were a walking coma patient.

The behavior hadn't started until she'd been discharged from the hospital, a little over a week after the attack. Before then, he'd been the way she'd always known him; sweet, kind, quick to comfort with a gentle touch. Calix had once stated as much to her, during one of Bucky's rare visits outside of the room.

"So," Calix had started, offering a grin to Sasha, "where'd you pick that guy up?"

"Actually, he picked me up, believe it or not." Which was basically true. Bucky had come into Sasha's life, not the other way around. Thank god he had, too, or else that sleaze from the alley would have done a lot worse to her than give her a bloody nose and some bruises. "Not a lot of people know. Mom only found out when she attacked us with her presence."

Despite the fact that he knew his sister was actually quite serious, Calix threw his head back and laughed. "You're telling me that the first time Mom met him was a surprise? And she didn't automatically disapprove?"

Andrea shrugged, a smile coming to her face. "Believe me, she was about ready to have a heart attack. That was when he had long hair, too. I'm still convinced that she made him cut it, because he won't say anything about it." Which drove her insane, but he was adamant that she know no details.

The laughter coming from Calix was that of the immature older brother that she'd grown up with. "I bet she just _loved_ that. He doesn't look too bad though, not really." For a moment, Calix hesitated, seeming as though there was something he wasn't sure if he should say. "And, he treats you right? Makes you feel safe, keeps you happy?"

He'd been reading the pamphlets again, apparently.

"Bucky's great, Calix. He's not... he doesn't push me, doesn't make me second guess myself. Actually, he does the exact opposite." Her words weren't empty, either. Andrea knew this as sure as she breathed, as well as she knew herself. Of all things that Bucky was capable of, taking advantage of a girl with insecurity problems was not one of them. God, she didn't even think he could comprehend the idea of disrespecting a girl, much less using one. "I think... I don't know, it's silly. We've only known each other for a little more than a month, but... I think I love him."

Inside, she felt a floodgate of emotion break in her mind, and knew that, without a doubt, her words were true. What she'd felt all those times he'd looked at her with a caring or worrying gaze, the skip in her heart beat that occurred each time one of his hands brushed her in even the slightest of ways, be it the flesh or the metal one, or even when he simply held her in his arms, all of that resulted from the fact that she loved him. And, if she was reading it right, if she wasn't just imagining it into all of their interactions, then he felt the same way. Was that why he'd acted so relieved to see her awake and well, even more so than just a friend would be?

A small voice in the back of her mind, one that seemed to have deemed it appropriate to play devil's advocate, wondered if she was just being a stereotypical school girl. Maybe she was just thinking about it too much, imagining what she wanted it to be. She'd only had one boyfriend before, so really, how could she possibly know what love felt like? Up until a few days ago, she hadn't even known who he truly was, which meant that her feelings had been built on a lie. Did that matter at all? Did that change anything she felt for Bucky?

No, she decided, giving a subconscious shake of her head. No, it really didn't. It didn't matter if he'd been born in 1988 or 1917 or even 1902; he was still the same Bucky Barnes she'd gotten to know. Nothing was altered; her feelings were real.

"Oh my god," she whispered, looking Calix in the eyes and smiling. "Oh my god, I love him. I do."

Calix gave her a grin. "Then he's a lucky guy. He seems like he'll take care of you great. You could use a guy like him."

Bucky had come back a few minutes later, bringing in a coffee drink he'd once seen her order, and had entered into the conversation. Thankfully, Calix had had the sense to inconspicuously switch the topic, but she didn't think Bucky missed the happy look her brother threw at him.

She'd been released from the hospital a few days later, and ever since then, Bucky had shut her out. It wouldn't have hurt so much if he'd just tell her _why_. Why was he acting that way? Why wouldn't he touch her, or look at her for very long, or sleep in the same bed as her anymore? It hadn't been a problem before!

She really didn't get it.

Bucky stood there in front of her, looking as though he wanted to prove her otherwise. She knew he couldn't; not while he was acting the way he was. "Would you please sit down?" he pushed instead, sighing the sort of sigh that said he wished she'd just drop the subject. "You aren't strong enough to be standing a whole lot yet."

"I'll sit down when I want to sit down, and that's not going to be before I get an answer."

"You are acting like a child. You're recovering from surgery, your body needs rest, and you _cannot_ be standing right now. Sit _down_."

"No. Not until you tell me what the hell your deal is." Now she was growing emotional. She wasn't sure why, as they weren't really arguing in any type of passionate manner; at least, not yet. Tears were springing to her eyes and it was all she could do to fight them off. "You won't... you won't look at me, or touch me, you barely talk to me, I..."

"Sasha, _please_ , just-"

"What did I do wrong?"

It was just a whisper, if you could even call it that. Just a meek little inquiry, one that made her feel sad and miserable. Really, if his actions were going to continue on like this, she at least needed to know what she'd done to offend him.

Bucky's face tensed in horror and revolt, and then softened in sympathy. This confused her, as the two emotions were practically on opposite end of the spectrum, but even still. It was an emotional response. "You didn't do anything, believe me. It's... complicated," he tried, squirming at the use of the word, "but it's not anything that you did."

For some reason, that only made the situation worse. He made himself become distant and cold, and it wasn't even because she'd done something to deserve it? What the hell gave him that right? An emotion, a particular one she hadn't ever thought she'd feel towards him, began billowing up in her mind, like the mushroom cloud resulting from an explosion: anger.

"Okay, just-" Andrea cut herself off, searching for the right words. It had been a _long_ time since she'd been so suddenly angry at a person, the last time she remembered being the day she moved out of her mother's house, so it would be a few seconds before she could figure out how to word a biting argument. "Back the fuck up a second. You've been hanging around with me for, like, a month and a half, staying in my home sometimes and borrowing my brother's clothes. You made me feel like I'm some unique, special girl who's worth something when it comes to a friendship, like I'm important. Then, throughout all of this, you've been lying to me this entire time about who you really are - which, by the way, was fucking _dangerous_ , considering you're a fucking _soviet assassin_ \- and have gotten closer to me without telling me _shit_. So, if either of us should be hesitant to treat the other like a person, don't you think I've got more of a right than you?"

The way Bucky looked after she stopped to catch her breath had been positively wounded. Admittedly, some of what she'd said had been harsh. Bucky felt bad about keeping his identity from her, he'd said as much about twenty times while giving her the entire story, and making him feel bad about it was sort of a shitty thing to do. Taking it even further, she'd sort of expressed herself using the wrong words; _hesitant to treat the other like a person,_ she'd said. He'd been dehumanized for the past seven decades, had been looked at as a weapon without emotions for so many years. Sure, Bucky was being distant, but it didn't mean that she had the right to throw a tantrum about that part. Looking at his face now, slightly broken, Andrea saw that her comments had done what she'd had to learn to make them do over the years; they'd stung him, cutting a little deeper than was necessary.

"I..." His face was composed enough, but Bucky's eyes had always shown more emotion than he'd wanted them to. Looking into them, she found hurt, sorrow, and, oddly enough, a strange tinge of admiration. "I'm just trying to keep you safe. If they think you don't mean anything to me, then maybe they'll... maybe they won't hurt you."

Not the response Andrea had been expecting. She'd imagined something along the lines of a dark, cold fury, one that would have left her chest aching and mind reeling. Instead, what she'd gotten was a quiet little explanation of hope. Certainly not what she'd given him, and now, well. If ever there was a definition of royal bitch, it would be her name.

Bucky continued, this time even softer than before. "You can hate me if you want to," he told her. Andrea noticed that he'd become slightly closer to her than he had been a few moments ago. "Believe me, I won't blame you. Just, don't... don't assume that I act like this because I hate you in return. I don't. I'm just trying to keep you safe."

Safe. Safe, safe, safe. Her entire life, her entire _existence_ had been about that word. She hadn't ever been allowed to visit her biological parents because, _what if they weren't safe?_ Hadn't been allowed to be friends with a new student in middle school because he'd just gotten out of juvie, _and besides Alexandrea, he's not safe. He's a criminal._ She hadn't gotten her license until she was eighteen because _driving is dangerous Alexandrea, you won't need to drive for awhile._ A sheltered existence grew monotonous after a time.

Andrea shook her head, and met Bucky's gaze head on. "I don't want to be safe," she told him, taking her own step closer to him. There wasn't much space left between them now, and she was close enough to see detailed blue patterns in his irises. Something had her chest tightening and her heart beating a mile a minute. "I don't care if they wanna hurt me again or even if they wanna kill me next time." If she just stood on her toes.... "You're worth the pain."

Before she could move, he beat her to the punch. Letting his hands shoot out and grab her, he pulled her to him, urging her up on her tiptoes, and letting his lips meet hers. Although she could feel that they were soft and warm, he used them to kiss her roughly, almost hungrily, tongue tracing across her lip and desperately wanting her to reciprocate. His hands slid across her body, the flesh one creeping it's way into her hair and entangling itself, and the metal one falling down to her lower back, clutching her firmly against him and giving her nowhere to go aside from him.

No one had ever kissed her like that before. The one boy she'd been with in the past had really only held her hand and given her pecks on the lips goodbye, and this wasn't anything like that at all. This kiss was ferociously passionate, almost feral, and would sure as hell take a long time to stop replaying in her mind. This was the type of kiss you stayed awake dreaming about at night; the kind that drove a girl crazy with romantic feelings and happy sighs and smiles.

It was also the kiss that made her forget her last name.

They'd never talked about their feelings towards one another, not explicitly. Both of them had assumed they were just friends, but Andrea had always secretly harbored those kinds of feelings for him. He could probably tell that now, because when he pulled her in and kissed her, then waited to see if she'd pull back, she hadn't. She'd kissed him right back, matching his intensity and practically yanking his neck down to get a better range. If this was something he'd look at as 'friendship stuff,' then she was going to have to have a defining discussion with him.

Bucky, noting the height difference but not wanting to fall down on top of her, freed both his hands and lifted her, using them to encourage her wrapping her legs around his waist. She had to admit that this was a bit much for a first kiss kind of thing, but there was a wild sort of passion raging around in her body, all the way from the top of her head down to her feet, and she _liked_ it. She liked the edge she was feeling, the sort of adrenaline that kissing Bucky brought on. God, she didn't want it to end ever.

Instead of continuing to stand, although Andrea was sure he could have managed it, he backed up a few steps and sat down on the couch, so that he was under her and she was straddling his body. She allowed her hands to slide over his neck and through his hair, now able to reach both. Everything about him, his lips, his hair, his skin, it was all so soft and smooth, and she'd never had any idea that something so smooth could be used for such rough things as killing and torture. He should have never been forced to do those awful things for so long; someone that soft needed to be cherished and loved and kissed.

Eventually her breathing had grown so strained that he pulled his mouth away from hers, putting a halt to the twisting and turning and parting and meetings of their lips and tongues so that she could breathe. "I'm sorry," he murmured, leaning forward and allowing his lips to press at the hollow of her neck. Anywhere his lips touched felt like droplets of fire had been left along her skin, and she knew there wouldn't ever be anyone else in the world who could make her feel quite like this. "I don't know what came over me, I just-" His words were cut off as she shivered, due to the fact that he'd let his lips drift from the hollow of her throat to just under her ear. "I just needed to know what this would feel like... with you."

Andrea, all but sinking herself into every touch he placed on her body, closed her eyes and heaved a deep sigh of contentment. "And, uh, how'd it, um, turn out to be like?"

She could feel him laughing against her, felt his breath on her ear. " _Mesmerizing_ ," he whispered huskily. With that, he shifted her off his lap, mouth back down to the curve of her neck, and told her, "Get back to bed, Sashen'ka. You're still recovering. You get too excited, you could have a few... problems." That last word was punctuated by Andrea emitting a sharp gasp, resulting from Bucky having lightly bitten down on her skin. She could actually _feel_ the satisfied grin on his face. "I'm going to go and get your prescription. Be good while I'm gone." She didn't even have the coherency to tell him goodbye until he'd walked out of the door and closed it behind him.

" _Jesus Christ_ ," she breathed, running a hand through her hair and noting the burning in her cheeks. It was only a few moments later when she realized they really hadn't managed to resolve anything. Or, _she_ hadn't, anyway. "What the hell just happened?"

\--

A few minutes after Bucky left, she took her phone from where she'd left it at the table and dialed a number she hadn't dared enter as a saved contact. This was one contact of hers Bucky didn't need to know about, and if he ever saw the name flash on her phone screen, he'd probably bolt.

After a few rings, someone picked up. "Hello?" came Steve's voice. "Andrea?"

"Hey," she replied, not being able to help continuously glancing towards the door. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew updating Steve on Bucky was the right thing for her to do, but she always seemed unable to justify it. Guilt would become much more prominent if she kept this up. "You still wanted me to update you, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course. Don't think of this as, like, you spying on him or anything, I just wanna know how he is." She told Steve that she understood and they fell into a pocket of silence. Then, almost awkwardly, Steve asked, "So, uh, how is he?"

Andrea thought back to the past week. "He's been acting pretty distant lately. He wouldn't really interact with me too much the way he did before the accident, but it's just because he doesn't want Hydra to hurt me again. He thinks they've got us under surveillance, and that if they see him not caring much about me, then they won't hurt me." Although, he'd kind of sabotaged his own wishes by engaging her in a make out session, but Steve didn't particularly need to know about that. She was still debating on whether or not she should tell Nova.

"That sounds like Bucky," Steve muttered. "Um, if you don't mind my asking. How does he really feel towards you? Exactly?"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure he only sees me as a friend." Lie. Total lie. Grabbing her and planting one on her was not an act of friendship, especially when it came to the guy who had a hard time admitting his emotions. "We're close, but like I said. He doesn't want them to think we are."

"Sounds like your best bet might be to play along. If you actually confront him about it then he might do something unexpected." Steve had no idea just how on point he'd managed to aim his dart at the target. Even now, Andrea could feel her cheeks growing warmer and warmer as the conversation progressed.

"Yeah, I will definitely keep that in mind. Thanks, Steve. I'll talk to you later." Steve gave her a goodbye of her own, and then they both hung up.

What was she supposed to do now? Bucky was out getting her medicine, so no one was present that she could talk to. Hell, even if Bucky _had_ been present, talking was not the thing she'd be wanting to do with him. Andrea didn't know where the sudden spark of intensity for the kiss had come from, or even where she'd dug up that sense of wild excitement to keep it going, but it had happened. She wanted to talk about it with Nova, but to do that she'd have to explain the situation without bringing up Hydra, and she hated to keep things from her friend.

Then again, if she didn't talk about what had gone down soon, she'd probably, like, die. That was why, after a few more moments of deliberation, she placed a call to her best friend and let her into the apartment half an hour later.

"Hey! How are you?" Nova asked after closing the door behind her and throwing her arms around Andrea. "You look a lot better than you did in the hospital. You feeling okay?"

Andrea shrugged, giving her a noncommittal noise. "Better than I was, but at the same time... ugh. Bucky went out to get my medicine, but that was half an hour ago, so he could be anywhere now."

As always, there was no getting past Nova when you were hiding something. Andrea wasn't sure how, but Nova had always had a way of telling you were holding something back. "Okay. Lay it on me. You only ever call me over like this to talk about him anymore, so what did he do? Did he hurt you? Do I need to plan out a murder?"

"No. Actually, I mean, he hurt my feelings, but he wasn't trying to do it intentionally? He just wanted to- I mean, he said- He kissed me." There. The words dropped, and already she felt like a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

Nova blinked twice, opened her mouth to say something, then promptly shut it. Slowly, so slowly Andrea at first thought that she'd broken her best friend, a smile curled onto Nova's face and the blonde's hands were suddenly thrown into the air. "Oh my god! No fucking way, what? I knew it! I knew he liked you, fuck yeah!"

"Dude, calm down," Andrea giggled, subconsciously allowing a few fingers to make contact with her lips. She could still feel the warmth that had been radiating from Bucky's mouth. "It was like.... fuck. I want to say it wasn't a big deal and that he was a gentleman about it, but that was the most wild experience of my fucking life."

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!" Nova was now a nonstop babble of words. "Are you serious? Wait, but if he wasn't a gentleman about it, then what was it like? I figured he'd be one of those guys that was secretly sensitive but didn't want everyone to know about it and assumed that he'd be all gentle and stuff, but I mean, if that's not right, then...?"

Somehow, speaking about it was almost as thrilling as it was embarrassing to share such a personal thing. "Okay, so, like, he grabbed me and pulled me forward-"

"Wait, he kissed you first?"

"Yeah, shut up, I said that already. Anyways, he pulled me forward and just... Went at it, you know? Like, he didn't even bother taking it slow or anything, he just went straight for it and, like, made me feel alive. That sounds really cliche, but that's the only way I can put it. And, god, when he got tired of leaning so far forward, he..."

Nova's eyes practically bugged out of her head. "He what? Don't stop there, you know our rules! Nothing is too personal! What did he do, what?"

Andrea blushed and closed her eyes, not being able to help the smile on her face. "He lifted me up and I mean, I didn't want him to just hold me, so I... wrapped my legs? Around his waist? And like, after that, he may or may not have, like, kissed my neck? A lot?"

"I'm gonna die. Oh my god, I'm gonna die, this is so great. I knew he had a thing for you, I fucking knew it!"

She wasn't sure how long the two of them sat there talking about it, squealing and giggling in delight, but Andrea liked the sense of normalcy it brought her. To just sit there, poring over what had happened in her romantic life with her best friend, was something they'd used to do all the time. In a way, it was almost peaceful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year to everybody! This was a very special chapter and I hope it lived up to your standards! Let me know what you all thought, I love all of your reactions!


	12. Is This Love?

"James, James, James!" Sophie squealed, darting into his room and throwing her small body atop his, simultaneously attempting to yank the blankets off him. He groaned a sharp sound of protest because although he made enough money to keep them from being evicted, he didn't have enough to keep the apartment heated through winter and to get presents for the girls. It was always one or the other and Bucky had decided it was worth layering up in extra blankets for three or four months to see the happy smiles each of them gave him every Christmas morning. However, when Sophie took it upon herself to wake him up by trying to give him frostbite every year, he'd had to second guess himself a few times. "It's snowing, James! James! Wake up, it's snowing!"

"Sophie, it's _always_ snowing," Bucky muttered, unable to help the small chuckle that escaped him nonetheless. While it was true Brooklyn got snow more often than it should have, Sophie was beginning to appreciate it a lot more.

"But Jaaaaames," she continued, pressing her forehead against his, "there's lots of snow! Rosie says it was a blitzen! Like the reindeer!"

That didn't sound right. Rosemarie was one of the most annoyingly factual fourteen year olds Bucky had ever heard of. He'd had a hard enough time trying to get her not to tell Sophie that Santa Claus wasn't real; it seemed very unlikely she'd tell her that Blitzen the reindeer had anything to do with anything in the world.

Bucky opened his eyes and stared at Sophie. She was a small little thing for her age, barely two months past nine years old, and he understood how everyone could mistake her as his own child by just looking at her. She had the same dark hair on her head, though hers was longer and thicker, framing her face and falling into his as she leaned over him, and her eyes were the same shade of bright blue. Her skin, discounting the rosy cheeks that seemed typical for someone her age, was pale as porcelain, sometimes reminding Bucky of a china doll. Steve was always asking if he could draw her and Sophie never said no. Bucky was sure that she had a cute, girlish crush on Steve, as little girls and boys so often did with their older siblings' friends.

"You sure Rosie said Blitzen?" he asked her, furrowing his eyebrows.

Sophie shrugged. "It sounded like Blitzen. I told her there was lots of snow outside because it was snowing real hard last night, and she said it was because it was a Blitzen."

Understanding what his little sister was trying to say, Bucky laughed and sat up a little, shifting Sophie onto his lap and making sure to keep the blanket around his shoulders as he did. "You mean a blizzard. Rosie told you there was a blizzard. It sounds the same, I know." And indeed, he could see white light filtering in through his tiny window, resulting from what was no doubt layer upon layer of untouched powdery snow, all settled outside.

"Yeah, blizzard! You wanna come outside and play with me?" She gave him the big, blue eyed stare that she'd picked up sometime when she was a little younger. Somehow, Sophie had found out that Bucky had a soft spot for her, and wouldn't be able to deny her if she played her cards right.

Giving it some thought, Bucky tilted his head. He wouldn't have to go to work, not if there had been a blizzard, and really, he hadn't had the chance to play with Sophie in awhile. With any of the girls, actually. Being a twenty three year old guy taking care of his three younger sisters would take it's toll on the amount of time he had to play. "Alrighty, Soph, I'll-"

A single knock sounded from the door of the bedroom before it was pushed open wider. Jasmine, the second oldest of the three girls, padded in and gave Bucky a small smile. Like the rest of her siblings, Jasmine had the bright blue eyes that seemed to run in the Barnes family. Somehow, though, she'd missed out on the brunette hair gene and had instead been given bright, golden hair that currently needed to be trimmed. "Morning Bucky," she mumbled. "Steve's here."

Sophie perked up, rolling off of Bucky's lap and staring her older sister dead in the eyes. "Steve's here? Really?"

Jasmine nodded. "Uh huh. He said he walked here to come and visit us. He's in the living room with Rosie."

Bucky groaned. _Of course_ Steve had taken it upon himself to walk all the way to their apartment in the snow. If he wasn't trying to get into fights with guys ten times bigger than him, then he was trying to pick up pneumonia in the middle of a blizzard. Perhaps it wouldn't have mattered if _Bucky_ had been the one doing the walking, but that was the only way it would have been fine. Steve was way too prone to any type of illness under the sun, especially the ones that came from the cold. "Thanks Jazzy, I'm coming out."

Letting the blanket drop and the frigid air attack his skin as he stood from the mattress he slept on, Bucky tugged a shirt over his head and lead Sophie out of his room to the small living room in their apartment. Sure enough, sitting on the shabby couch their parents had left to their children with several layers of too-big sweaters hanging off his body was Steve Rogers, white puffs of snow melting into his hair. In his hands was a thick envelope, and next to him was the eldest of Bucky's three sisters, Rosemarie, brown hair swept back from her face in a lazy knot. As soon as Steve saw Bucky and Sophie emerge from the room, he smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Hey, Steve," Bucky greeted, waving a hand.

Sophie ran forward, climbed up on the couch, and gave Steve a right squeeze. Startled, Steve wrapped his arms around Sophie and laughed. "How are you, Sophie?"

"Good! There's a blizzard outside, you wanna come play with us? You can be on mine and Bucky's team during the snowball fight!"

"That's not fair," Rosemarie protested, "Jazzy and I should at least get Steve."

Jasmine, walking forward from where she'd been standing at Bucky's side, joined the others on the couch and agreed with Rosemarie. "Yeah! You can't have both of them!"

They went back and forth, bickering for a few seconds and just before Bucky could tell them to knock it off or there wouldn't _be_ any playing in the snow, Steve interrupted them. This was a surprise to everybody, because he never really got in the middle of the girls' arguments. "Hey, tell you what," Steve began, running a hand through his already messed up hair. "Why don't you three get dressed to go out and then you start making some snowballs for yourselves. Bucky and I will be on a team, and it'll be you three against us, yeah?"

Rosemarie debated a few minutes, then asked, "Aren't you and Bucky coming with us?"

"Yeah, we'll be out in a few minutes," Steve answered, "I just wanna talk to him first. It's important."

Wasting no time, the girls all scrambled to their room, dressed quickly in the little amount of warm clothing Bucky had managed to provide and headed out the door of the apartment. Waiting a few seconds after the door was shut, Bucky stepped over to where Steve was and sat down beside him.

"First of all, you're a dumbass. Did you even stop to _wonder_ if so much cold weather would make you sick?"

Steve shook his head and rolled his eyes. "I'm fine, aren't I?"

"You don't get pneumonia right away, stupid."

"Shut up, Buck." Steve laughed a little, though it was short lived, and his face suddenly grew into something a bit more solemn than Bucky would have liked. His hands, squeezing the envelope he held in his hands, he raised it and brought it to Bucky's attention. "This was outside the door. When I walked up the steps, it was just sitting there. Figured I'd bring it inside; I didn't want the girls to find it, I know they like to open the mail."

Bucky's mouth ran dry. Suddenly, it was easier to recognize the seal on the envelope, the printed wording of the return address up in the top corner. He knew what it was, but he had to ask anyways. "What... what is it?"

Steve, carefully meeting Bucky's gaze, took a deep breath. "I don't know. I know who it's from, but... I don't know what's inside."

Bucky knew. Bucky knew _exactly_ what it was, and had dreaded the day they'd send this particular piece of mail. He'd tried so hard to avoid it, had pleaded and begged with the military officials, had insisted that he wasn't physically capable to do what they wanted him to do, had argued that the three girls only had him left, that they didn't have any aunts or uncles or any relatives whatsoever that they could go to. He was _all_ they had, and he couldn't leave them.

They hadn't listened.

Taking the envelope in his hands, Bucky deftly tore it open and retrieved the papers from within, knowing already what he'd find when he looked down and having to force himself to read it anyway. "Dear Mr. Barnes," he read aloud, voice shaking and hands shaking and everything shaking, "it is our sincerest pleasure to welcome you, our newest addition, into..."

He dropped the paper onto the ground, knowing that if it stayed in his grasp any longer, he'd rip it. His breathing escalated quickly and before he knew it, tears were streaming down his face. It was all he could do not to scream, because if he screamed, the girls would hear him and they'd come running in. They couldn't know yet. If he had a choice, they wouldn't ever know, but that wasn't the way it worked in the world.

"It's okay, Buck. It's gonna be okay." Steve was always good at that. Comforting someone, telling them that it was going to be fine when it wasn't going to be. Bucky wanted to believe that, but he knew better. "What'd it say?"

As if he had to ask. Swiping the tears at his eyes and swallowing a sob, Bucky managed to force out, "They... the army. They sent me a letter... They drafted me, Steve."

\--

Bucky paused in the middle of the street, blinking rapidly. The memory of three little girls, especially the memory of the snow day in particular, had been dancing at the edge of his mind for days, ever since Sasha had been attacked. He'd been under the impression that he'd managed to repossess all of his memories; for God's sake, he'd even remembered that Steve had been color blind before the injection of the serum. Why was it that he was just now regaining memories of three little girls?

Three girls. Three names. Granted, they were three names that he couldn't remember, but he was sure they would come back to him eventually. For now, it would be best to let it leave his mind. If he thought too hard on it, it wouldn't make much of a difference.

He'd been out for sometime. His original purpose had been to pick up Sasha's prescription, and he'd completed the task, but for some reason he couldn't exactly pinpoint, he was too nervous to return to her apartment. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he'd kind of done something with her he hadn't ever expected to actually do, or maybe because she'd reciprocated. He'd told himself that that wasn't the reason, that he was just walking around town, picking up a few things for her to make her feel better - as she _had_ actually been upset with him before he'd kissed her, so he figured these things would soften the lead-in to their next serious conversation, but Bucky knew himself well enough to know what he was really doing.

Stalling.

Now, though, he was back on the street leading to the apartment building, letting himself in quickly and swiftly finding his way to the third floor. He'd locked the door before leaving, but found that it was now opened and could hear playful chatter coming from within.

On the couch was Sasha, head resting on Nova's shoulder, and in front of them, on the TV screen, played a movie consisting of, from what he could see, three or four girls dressed in entirely too much pink. He shut the door gently behind him, but the girls must have heard and turned their heads to look at him. Both of them offered him large smiles and Nova even waved.

"Bucky's back!" Sasha giggled, gifting him with the sight of a warm brown gaze and a soft expression about her face.

"Oh my god," Nova sighed dramatically, unable to help the amused smile on her face, "he doesn't even go here!"

The two girls looked at him expectantly, though he wasn't quite sure what it was he was supposed to be doing. "I don't follow," he told them, allowing his confusion to leak into his voice.

Nova only laughed harder and shook her head. "Don't worry, dude. We're only a few minutes in, we can totally restart the movie for you."

Sasha's mind had strayed to something else. "What's in the bag, nerd?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Well, most of it was for you, but I'm thinking since you're being rude, I'm not going to give it to you."

She rolled her eyes and beckoned him over. "Okay, well I happen to know that you've got some narcotic based drugs in that bag, and you're not keeping them all to yourself. Bring the bag over, we'll let you watch Mean Girls with us."

Even though he had no idea what in the hell Mean Girls was, he did as she asked and found his way over to the couch, sitting himself down next to her. "You wanna see what I got?" At Sasha's nod, he began pulling things out at random. "Drugs for you. There's one bottle that you're supposed to take with food, and another one that'll make you drowsy."

Sasha sighed. "God, I hate prescription pills, they're the fucking worst. That's not all you were out getting, is it?"

He shook his head, smiling and pulling another item from the bag. "I figured you could use a pick me up after, you know, almost dying, so I got a few sweet things for you. Wasn't sure what you liked, but I figured chocolate was a safe territory for anybody." He assumed that the happy smile was not, in fact, a bad thing, and kept going. "And, you know, I may or may not have visited a bakery in Manhattan. I know you like-" He pulled the plastic container from the bag and smiled, "-these?"

A loud whoop of gratefulness sounded, and Sasha threw her arms up into the air. "Red velvet cupcakes, bless your soul! You're a fucking dream, Bucky Barnes!"

She grabbed the cupcakes from his grasp and attempted to pry the container open, but he stopped her before she got very far. "Take the medicine with those. That's part of why I bought them; the flavor will make the taste of the pills go away."

Nova raised an eyebrow. "Damn. I wish I had a guy like that. Half the time I'm the one giving the dude money to borrow so that he can pay." She made it clear in her tone that 'borrow' meant 'giving and never receiving it back.'

Bucky's face, he was sure, grew into a slight look of disgust. He'd known men like that back in the 1930s and remembered that all of them, more or less, had been a little too sleazy for his liking. "You shouldn't have to put up with guys like that. It's ridiculous." Needless to say, that had _not_ been the way Bucky was raised.

Andrea smiled. "Not all of them can be as perfect as you, Bucky."

That brought something back to his memory as well. The day after he'd met Sasha, she'd told him that she'd experienced a fair amount of street harassment. Now, those acts had probably been done by the same types of guys that Nova found herself dating, but had Sasha ever attempted a relationship with one of those men? Had she ever tried to date one, change him into something better only to have it fail completely? Had they touched her with her consent, kissed her the way he had? Did she ever let them call her their own?

That was a thought that he didn't seem to like. At all.

Without thinking, he used his regular hand to take hold of Sasha's left one. She gave a surprised little noise and looked over at him with a confused look, but he just smiled and shrugged. After a moment, she went back to the movie that they'd restarted.

It made sense now. He understood why she'd been upset earlier, why she'd been so particularly crushed when he'd acted distant from her. At least, he thought it did; it could have been the slight jealousy speaking, but he didn't think that was the case. She cared about him, she really did, maybe even loved him. She'd never said as much, but he remembered how hard it was to recognize and admit your own feelings. He certainly felt strongly for her... but was it love? Was this what love felt like, always so warm and light, yet ready to crush the heart in an instant? He'd need to find out, and quickly.

For the moment, though, he'd be staying on the couch with the girls, watching the ridiculous movie they'd chosen and listening as they practically quoted it word for word. He would hold Sasha's hand, smile and be content, because that was how this situation made him feel. Content.

And then, later on, he would confirm the emotions that had been racing around in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, updated two days in a row! Consider this a new year's gift! I'll be updating tomorrow as well, and from then on, I'll post as I finish each chapter! Happy New Year!


	13. Somewhat of an Inconvenience

The situation, Andrea had come to decide, was beginning to get somewhat out of control. Granted, it was not a particularly horrible situation to be in; in fact, many girls would kill for what she was experiencing, but everyone needed boundaries. _Especially_ when facing down what she was.

It began a day or two after the whole enraged kissing accident and hadn't ceased since. The first time it happened, Andrea had been on the way to her bedroom when she'd noticed Bucky's door was slightly ajar. She knocked, and upon hearing the soft affirmation that she could enter the room, she pushed the door open further and walked in.

Bucky sat on the bed, surrounded by a very minimal amount of clothing. Before he'd met her, he'd had to occasionally pickpocket money from those who looked like they had enough to spare. Or, that was how he'd explained it. Andrea didn't necessarily agree with that method, but she could hardly blame him when he'd had nothing at all, not even a clue as to who he was. At current, he was sorting through what he'd bought with the stolen money. They weren't much, but they fit a lot better than Calix's extra clothes.

"Hello," Bucky greeted her softly. The gentle tilt to the corners of his mouth and the slight incline of his head warmed her heart in just a fraction of a second. _That's for me,_ she couldn't help thinking to herself, _that's only for me._ "The moving-in process is going fairly well."

"I would hope so. Are you sure there's nothing you want me to help you with?"

"I'm sure. Besides," he raised both his hands, the metal winking in the fluorescent lighting like some sort of beacon, "I'm already done." Bucky's smile grew hesitant for a moment, and then he asked, "You're sure you want me living here? The organization that wants me... they're not so forgiving. If there's another attack on you - not that I will _ever_ let them touch you again, mind you - it'll be more severe."

Andrea smiled, raising a hand to place on Bucky's arm and looking up at him with nothing but compassion. "I'm sure. It doesn't cost me any extra money aside from food - and, uh, maybe some new clothes, because you can't keep on in Calix's. Anyways... I trust you. I know you'll do your best to protect me."

It was agonizingly thankful, the expression that crossed Bucky's face. For what, Andrea couldn't be quite sure, but that was what she recognized it as. Using his right hand to replace a strand of hair falling from the bun she'd thrown it into, Bucky shook his head as if to clear his mind. "Sorry. Am I keeping you from something? You weren't originally coming in here; you turned around."

She shook her head as well, shrugging. "I was just on my way to bed, that's all. I figured I should get to sleep early; I go back to class tomorrow." Something that was much needed, actually. All her classmates were messaging her nonstop and her instructors, as always, seemed to forget that sometimes people got attacked by random nazi organizations and were demanding that she get all the work she'd missed done pronto.

"Already?" Bucky murmured, tilting his head to the left. "Can't you miss a few more days? I'll miss having you around so often."

It was interesting, she thought. She knew he was just teasing, but really, she couldn't help but regret not being able to stay with him everyday. "Don't worry, Bucky. It's almost Summer, so school's almost out. I do still have the June showcase though, so... would you wanna go shopping with me in a day or two? I need a new dance outfit."

He let the two of his hands find the tops of her shoulders and slide down her arms, an echo of the time he'd walked her home in the rain and stood with her outside her door. "I'd like that. Now, go on and get to bed."

Andrea gave him a smile and leaned forward to wrap her arms around the tall man in front of her. "Thanks. Good night, Bucky. I..." Should she say she loved him? It wasn't untrue, as she'd realized several nights before that she did, but if she said it now then how would he take it?

Honestly, she should have known he would have taken care of it for her. He seemed to be catching on lately. Wrapping his arms around her to return the hug, he squeezed her gently and then loosened his hold. Only, instead of dropping them and telling her good night himself, she felt his hands gently tug her forward and practically squeaked when he bent to place a kiss on her mouth. Nothing nearly as passionate as the only other kiss they'd shared, but it definitely wasn't lacking in the soft and tender department.

Pulling away, he murmured, "Good night, Sashen'ka. I will see you in the morning." It was all she could do to not look stupid while stumbling out of his new room and into her own.

That was the first time it had happened. The next had been the morning after, when she'd had to get herself dressed and out the door to catch a ride to Manhattan.

She'd just finished eating a muffin from the pantry and had thrown away the wrapper when he'd shuffled out of his room. "Are you leaving?"

Andrea smiled over at him and nodded, grabbing her dance bag off of the floor. "Yeah. I should be back around afternoon. I'll hurry back as fast as I can." With that, she made a beeline for the door, but was tugged back when Bucky's hand caught her wrist and gently pulled her back around. "Come on, Bucky, I have to-"

Bucky's lips silenced hers. Although he'd just woken up, it seemed he was awake enough to pull her concentration entirely to him. His fingertips, soft and cool, caressed the side of her neck, left bare by the messily tied bun securing her hair at the top of her head.

He let her go a moment after, sighing happily and leaning his forehead against hers. "I'm going to pick you up later," he told her, "after you're done with classes. And you and I are going to spend some time together. Okay?"

Her eyes felt as though they were about to fall out of her head, they'd popped so wide. "I, uh... I mean...?" God. She _really_ needed to figure out how to keep from getting so flustered by these situations. "I have to go?"

His lips darted to her cheek and he pulled himself away completely a few moments later. "Have a nice day. I'll see you."

She'd had to leave to keep herself from being late the first day back. Nova, it seemed, had mistaken her awe and bafflement as some sort of negative alternative, as she'd spent most of the day trying to figure out if anything was wrong with her. Andrea had simply said that everything was fine to derail the worry; she supposed she could have told Nova what was going on, but she didn't think it was necessary. It wasn't anything new, wasn't as if they hadn't kissed before.

Because they _had_ kissed before, and that meant that Andrea would only get used to the effect it had on her. Surely, after enough embraces and roughly soft pressing of mouths, kissing Bucky would become second nature to her. She could believe that, right? As a matter of fact, she did believe that. Maybe it was just going to take a few days to get used to.

He'd stayed true to his word when he said that he'd come pick her up from school, and he'd been serious about the two of them spending time together as well. Bucky had appeared after her class had ended and was holding up a black coat that she recognized from the back of her closet. "What's that for?"

Bucky drew nearer to her and offered a playful grin. "The first time I spent an evening with you I was half afraid you would get hypothermia and die. I'm not about to have that on my conscience again."

Andrea scoffed, rolling her eyes. She wondered if he could see just how touched she really was at the fact he cared whether or not she was cold. "It's literally noon. What are you, my mother?"

"Sasha, please," Bucky replied, "I'm not that scary. I'm just a guy with war paint, a few knives, and a metal arm; your mother is a middle aged woman with a superiority complex and a nasty habit of verbally abusing her children. Which one do you think most people would find intimidating?"

Laughing, she responded, "Touché. Although... Would it make me a horrible person to admit that I would take your company over my mother's any day?"

They began to make their way through the halls. "Not exactly," Bucky mused, slipping his hand into hers as they went. It happened to be the metal hand, rubbing soft circles in the back of her own; Andrea was beginning to convince herself that there was some sort of nerve ending technology in the arm that let him feel things as though it were his own flesh and blood. "I can't think of anyone who would think too badly of you."

Smiling up and over at him, Andrea shook her head and shrugged. "I think that you're just biased towards me. I think that's what's going on here."

"And you're enjoying every minute of it."

"Oh, well I think that's debatable."

"You can't debate facts, doll."

God, she'd missed these banter filled conversations. Back when they'd first met, it was the only way they knew how to communicate, especially on that first day. Lately the sarcasm and cheekiness had died down as a result of the serious situations their relationship had been subjected to, but that wouldn't stop them from picking up right from where they'd left off.

They'd stayed out late that night, not making it back to the apartment until around one in the morning. She wasn't even sure where the time had gone or how they'd managed to use it all. One moment it was early afternoon and Bucky had picked her up from class, and another moment they were stumbling into the apartment, giggly and smiling with their hands on one another and a certain sort of fond glint in their eyes.

It was late and they were tired, so they opted for changing into pajamas immediately and turning off all the lights to lay underneath the comforter of Andrea's bed. They'd lain down, covered themselves with the warm blanket and held each other closely. Andrea had whispered good night to Bucky, who had opted to say the same thing without words.

A good night kiss didn't feel the way it sounded like it should. A good night kiss _sounded_ as though it should be peaceful and serene, calming the many thoughts that were running through a person's mind as they tried to settle themselves down in an attempt to drift off. You would _think_ that a good night kiss should feel like that, when in all actuality, it was much more thought provoking than that. Bucky pulled away and let his head fall to the pillow beside her own, but just because the kiss had been broken didn't mean that Andrea's mindset had.

What was happening to her? She'd never felt this way in her life, so confused and riled up about a boy of all things. Of course, she hadn't had much experience with boys or dating or anything like that. Whenever those topics came up, it was usually because Nova prompted them. Andrea herself hadn't given much thought to getting involved with anybody during college until Bucky had come along. So, going off of that... what the hell was going on now?

"I don't get it," she told him a few days later, the two of them having woken up to a Saturday morning only a few hours before.

Bucky tilted his head and gave Andrea a questioning gaze. "I don't understand what you mean, doll. Is something wrong?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Andrea responded, letting a hand run through her hair and shifting herself so that she sat cross legged on the couch, turned to face Bucky. "What are we, exactly?"

"You mean... like... in a general sense? Humans?"

She laughed in spite of herself and shook her head. Was it stupid of her to bring this up now? Maybe she should have waited. Maybe the kisses weren't as significant as she'd been making them out to be, and Bucky was just having some issues with expressing his feelings. That wasn't so far fetched, was it? He was a man who had been manipulated and abused into conforming to orders for decades and hadn't been allowed his own personal feelings for the same amount of time. It would make sense if he thought it was okay to just kiss a girl repeatedly, right? That was it?

Of course, it was probably much more simple than that and Andrea was just doing that stupid thing where she projected her own problems onto other people because she didn't know how to deal with something. That was the one that was more likely.

"No, I mean..." Well, damn. She'd started the conversation; she was going to have to finish it. Meeting Bucky's eyes, clear and blue and curious, Andrea asked, "Why do you keep kissing me?"

An understanding light reached Bucky's expression, and he lost a bit of the carefree attitude he'd been in possession of in favor for a slightly confused air. "I thought that I was making it obvious." After another moment he shook his head, and she noticed that he was becoming increasingly worried. "It hasn't... been unwanted, has it? I haven't been kissing you while you didn't want it?"

"Oh my god, no, of course not; it hasn't been unwanted at all, believe me." The memory of the way he'd regarded the thought of all of those men harassing her in the street came bubbling up to the front of her mind, and she remembered how upset he'd gotten whenever they had conversations on indecent men in her life and in general. Was he afraid that she saw him like that? "I'm just... I don't understand."

The morning light filtering in through the window caught on the side of his face, making the skin look warm and golden. It also set his eyes alight, into a bright and brilliant spark of blue fire. "I don't know where you want me to start," Bucky murmured, expression carefully neutral. What was he trying to hide from her at this point?

Andrea took a moment to think about what he'd said. Where did she want him to start? Although this was definitely a conversation the two of them needed to have, she'd started it without any thoughts on where to go once it was initiated. It wasn't as if she could just backtrack, either. This was going to have to happen now.

"Okay," she began after a moment, taking a deep breath and running with her decision,"the first time you kissed me. That very first day, when I was screaming at you and trying to start an argument, you said that you kissed me because you wanted to see what it would feel like. What... exactly, _what_ did you mean by that?"

It took him a moment, she observed, to process what she was asking him. Bucky's breathing quieted, and as Andrea watched to see how he would respond, she recognized herself in the way he was deliberating the best possible answer. She'd done that the same way, been in this situation plenty of times herself when she was a teenager. Her mother had put her in the exact same position that Andrea was currently putting Bucky in quite often, and God help her if she ended up anything like her mother.

"Okay, wait." Andrea scooted even closer to him, taking his hands, both metal and flesh, into her own. She looked into his eyes, as she knew he was looking into hers, and breathed with him for a moment. It was strange, almost, to be doing this for someone else; usually she was the one who needed someone to maintain a safe contact with her, to breathe with and calm her down. He squeezed her hands gently, repositioning them and lacing his fingers through hers. If she thought about it, perhaps this was just as much for her as it was for him. "I don't want to make you tell me, or anything. I've had enough of that in my life to know what it feels like."

"I'd be used to anything you could possibly make me do by now, little one," Bucky mumbled, shrugging a shoulder, "and I don't think I'd much mind if it was coming from you."

Bucky Barnes was nothing if not a smart ass.

"Back before I fell," he began, running one of his thumbs back and forth over hers, "I was the type of guy who threw everything he did into his emotions. Almost everything I did was because of the way I was feeling, y'know? If I was angry, people knew about it because I'd yell and scream or hit something 'til my knuckles were bleeding. I always gave Rogers crap for trying to get himself killed by caring too much, but really, I was just like him. People always told me, 'Barnes, you're the type of fella who feels with his whole body.' I never really understood what that meant; not at the time, anyway.

"After the fall from the train, I woke up in a lab. Hell of an experience, let me tell you. Waking up after giving a last prayer to whatever god's listening and asking for mercy, thinking you should be dead and wondering if this is what hell's like. There's no way it's heaven; heaven wouldn't ever hurt this bad. Except that... I didn't care that it hurt. I didn't even know if it _did_ hurt, I couldn't remember what hurting _was_. In that lab, I woke up and I couldn't feel a damned thing. I don't mean physically, either. I woke up and I didn't have an emotion or a feeling or anything."

He paused a moment and Andrea wondered if she'd be able to take hearing this story. She loved Bucky, and to have to hear about his pain in this way was going to break her. Of course, she had no right to think that. Andrea was willing to admit that she had no _idea_ of the meaning of the word. All she could do now was sit with him and empathize. That, at least, was something she knew how to do.

Bucky blinked and a glittering tear began finding its way down his face. "I'm still... trying to sort it out. Feelings." He dropped one of her hands and used his free one to encase both of hers, the metal of his left painting a cold ribbon across her skin. "After I high-tailed it from Hydra, they were all over the place. Anger has always been easiest to feel for me. Rage is a fire, an all consuming, destructive pathway. It's what I know best."

"It's what everyone knows best," Andrea murmured. "You shouldn't be afraid to accept it."

Suddenly, he dropped her hands and used his to take hold of her shoulders. It wasn't a hostile motion, per se, but it definitely wasn't a gentle one either. Looking her dead in the eyes, he enunciated very clearly, "Mine is dangerous. Mine is what kills. I did very bad things, Sasha, and I did them very, _very_ well."

"Not because you wanted to, though. I don't blame you for what you did, and you shouldn't blame yourself either. You didn't ever want it." If she didn't know better, Andrea would say Bucky was attempting to scare her into rejecting him, or trying to make her afraid of him in some way.

"No, I didn't. But it's not like I cared. The morality was the first thing they took." His blue eyes, normally so bright and filled with an interesting kind of clarity, were stormy and pained. They reminded Andrea of the ocean during a storm, dark and crashing and thunderous. "You can imagine how... _disgusted_ I was with myself when it turned back on, I'm sure. All of the victims, the men and women and children came rushing back to me. I thought about killing myself for days."

The horrible thing was, Andrea could imagine how bad it had been on him. During his time as the Winter Soldier, everything had been numbed, switched off in his mind. Whatever Hydra had made him do, whatever they'd put him through, he hadn't really experienced it. Not until Bucky had broken free and gone without the memory wipes. No, he'd only truly experienced the full effects alone, in his motel room, more than likely screaming and crying for the images of death to leave him.

Needless to say, the very thought of what he'd gone through was awful enough.

"Okay," she whispered, using one of her hands to cup his cheek. His hands still grasped her shoulders and he was still watching her intently. The ground she was currently walking, she felt, was very fragile indeed. "So, anger is potent. What other feelings have come back to you?"

Bucky breathed in deeply. "I think... It was mostly the negative ones at first, you know? Anger. Guilt. Sadness. Anxiety took hold for a long, _long_ time, which I'm sure you can relate to."

"I definitely can," Andrea confirmed. This was good; she was getting somewhere, albeit slowly, but perhaps if she was persistent, she could get him to see the bright side of things. "What else?"

The hint of a smile upturned the corners of his mouth. "I was struggling with morality the day I met you, actually. You were screaming in that alley, yelling for someone to help you get away from that guy, and I almost let you go. I almost... kept going." Thank god he hadn't. "After a few minutes I decided that I couldn't just leave you there; something about you reminded me far too much of Steve. You were my first moral choice in about seventy years.

"After that, it was just a flood. Compassion and care came when I insisted on taking care of you, contentment the next morning when we mostly talked, remorse that day I showed up to apologize to you. I felt free with you. _We_ felt right. You taught me how to be some semblance of a person again."

Andrea felt light enough to drift away at any possible moment. The way Bucky spoke about the things they'd experienced together made her equal parts giddy and surprised, if a little unsure. _She'd_ been the one to bring him back to humanity? Really?

There were plenty of times when they'd lain together on the couch or in her bed and she hadn't been able to help thinking, _I really like being with him._ _He makes me happy._ She'd never expected him to have the same thoughts in a more literal sense.

"So, when you kissed me," she mumbled, "which one were you trying to feel?"

"The only one that hadn't come back yet."

He let his hands drop the one of hers he was holding and used them to hold her by the waist. It would have looked a strange picture to anyone who would have happened to walk through her door at that moment; a six foot tall man and a girl whose head barely made it to his shoulder sitting cross legged on the couch together, the man's hands holding the girl's sides as if to pull her forward but doing anything besides that. If it had turned out that this night was going to be like so many previous instead of the one where they actually conversed, then this would have been the exact moment Bucky leaned in for a randomized kissing fit. She suspected that he sensed it wasn't the right time.

"Spending time with you has done something to me, Sasha. It took a little while, but it got to the point where I felt something strong every time I saw you. I didn't get it at first, but honestly, who does? It takes some time for a person to realize what exactly their emotions are telling them, which means that it took me twice as long, and I'm going to apologize for that. You deserve better." Bucky leaned forward to press his forehead against hers; Andrea couldn't help but close her eyes. She enjoyed this feeling more than anything else. "You deserve _so_ much better."

"I'm sorry," Andrea whispered, breathing the scent of him in deeply. God, she could've stayed like that with him for hours and been happier for it. "I don't think I know what you're getting at."

She could feel him laughing against her head, although she felt as though his heart wasn't truly in it. If it had been, he wouldn't have sounded as nervous as he did. "No, you wouldn't; I'm talking in circles, aren't I? I was always good at that. Still am I guess, but it's not like-"

"Easy there, soldier. Take a nice deep breath, yeah?"

" _To, chto ya pytayus' skazat', chto ya lyublyu tebya,_ " he blurted.

Andrea blinked once. Then twice. Between the time that it took her to realize Bucky had been speaking Russian and the time it took for her to remember that she couldn't _translate_ Russian, he'd had more than enough time to wipe the flustered look off his face. She hadn't missed it entirely, but there wasn't much she could do about it once it passed. "Uh... do you maybe wanna repeat that in English? Just so I know what went down?"

Bucky took a deep breath, pulled away from her, and smiled. "I kissed you the way I did because I was trying to figure out if what I feel for you is love. It didn't make sense to me; I didn't get it and I forgot what love was supposed to feel like, so I kissed you to remind myself and it's definitely you. For some reason I guess I thought that if I just kept kissing you, you'd be able to pick up on that and we wouldn't have to talk about it, but that was... slightly naive on my part. It wasn't my intention to make you feel uncomfortable or anything; I just wanted you to know that I love you."

"In that case," Andrea murmured, angling her face up. She pressed her lips to Bucky's and exhaled, the blissful smile on her face coming after the surprised little exclamation he made in the back of his throat. This was the first kiss between the two of them that _she'd_ been the one to initiate. "You and I are definitely gonna have to redefine the lines of 'fake relationship' for future reference."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty! From here on out, updates will depend on whenever I finish writing the chapters! I promise it won't be totally infrequent, but finals are coming up prett soon! I hope you enjoyed!


	14. Revelation

Clint knew she was there before he even opened his eyes. It was a sense that he'd learned to pick up over the years, to tell whether or not she was there. He didn't have the advantage of hearing her as other people would; he'd taken his hearing aids out to nap and was without his ears until he opened his eyes and located them. It was just something he'd learned to figure out without having to have any physical sense present, that was all.

He smiled and blinked his eyes open, Natasha's fiery red hair the first thing that came into view. Clint loved Natasha's hair in all honesty; it was the one thing about her that remained constant. She cut it sometimes, a little more often than he thought necessary, and she changed up the style from curly to straight as quickly as she changed her clothing. The color, however, was always the same. It remained a bright, flame red unless an undercover mission absolutely insisted she change her look. In that case, she'd go for something drastically different, often black or brown, but she always returned to crimson as soon as she could.

Natasha gave him a fond little tilt of her head and spoke something rapidly in Russian, as she often tended to do when she wasn't concentrating on her languages. He could tell it was Russian because of how comfortable she seemed while speaking. Now, that wasn't to say she wasn't comfortable speaking English or French, or any other language she was fluent in, because of course that wasn't the case. No, she just seemed a lot more relaxed when she spoke her first language, just the tiniest bit more at ease.

He loved her best when she was at ease.

Clint sat up, moving his feet so that she could sit down on the couch before reaching for his hearing aids and putting them on. Satisfied that he would be able to hear her now, he gave her another soft smile and said, "Would you mind repeating that one? Lip reading Russian's not my strong point."

She rolled her eyes, pulling her legs up onto the couch and leaning to rest her head on Clint's shoulder. He held his arms out and waited until she ceased moving to wrap her up in a hug. "I asked you why it is that I always find you on the couch when I come home from my trips. From what I remember, you've got a perfectly comfortable nest up in the rafters, and a bed in our room that you could take advantage of."

"The nest is no fun when the only person who can find me is gone," Clint whined, placing his chin atop Natasha's head, "and I don't like sleeping in our bed while you're gone. You know how I feel about it."

"Lots of people would be thrilled to have a king to themselves, Clint."

"Yeah, well, it's lonely without you. I'm lonely. None of them talk to me."

" _That_ ," Tony interrupted, striding through the doors of the living room, "is complete bullshit. You're the only one awake at three in the morning, I talk to you like every night you absolute drama queen." He paused to take a sip from the glass he was carrying, then set it down on the coffee table and found a perch on the arm of the couch. "Welcome home, Romanov. Glad to see Barton won't have the need to pine after you for a little while."

Natasha turned her head and looked at Tony. Clint couldn't help but laugh at the look she gave him, although he knew that aside from the slight annoyance, she was amused over all. "Thanks, Stark. Now that I'm back I'll be able to get you both back to your regular sleeping schedules."

Tony shook his head a bit too vigorously. Clint was sure that if he did it any more insistently, it would have flown off his shoulders, and that would have been something to see. "No no no, not until I finish my prototypes. They're gonna come in handy at some point soon, I've got this feeling."

Clint vaguely remembered Tony telling him what the prototypes were for, but it had been about two in the morning every time they came up. To ask at that moment probably would have been a little embarrassing and offensive, so he remained quiet. The way he saw it, you had to pick the battles you were confident about, and a Tony Stark with hurt feelings was not something he was confident about _at all._

Thankfully, Natasha had been gone for the last month and a half or two, and had no idea about any prototypes. "What are they?"

"Some under cover surveillance gear. Still working on the audio portion, but the video part's finished. I manufactured these kick ass contacts that have the smallest microchip implanted in them that anyone's ever seen. If somebody's gonna need to go undercover or something like that, they just pop in the contacts and the feed streams straight back to my screens. Pretty frickin' neat, if I do say so myself."

"That's what you say about all your prototypes, nerd," Natasha mumbled, rolling her eyes.

"Okay, listen here-"

"Tell me why every time I come home, you two are always arguing with each other and Clint's hiding his face in the couch like the kid who's being fought over in the divorce," came a voice from the doorway.

Clint raised his head and was about to say that if anyone was the divorce child in this relationship it was gonna be Tony, when he registered that the person who'd said it was tall, blonde, and well built. "Steve!" he exclaimed, sitting up a little straighter underneath Natasha. "You're home!"

"Sure am. I brought Sam with me, he's checking out the tower right now. We decided to, uh, take a break from the mission for a few weeks."

"What, Capsicle Mach Two is still avoiding you?" Tony questioned, tilting his head to the side. "You can't just corner him and throw friendship bracelets until he agrees to give you a hug or something?"

"Don't be rude, asshat," Natasha hissed, elbowing Tony in the side.

"Ow! Hey, I'm just saying, if this were _my_ best friend from seventy years ago, I would've brought him a scrap book or something as proof that we hung out."

"Pics or it didn't happen," Clint giggled, hiding his face in the couch again. Internet memes would be the death of him.

Steve shook his head, smiling despite the annoying comment Tony had made and the childish one from Clint. "It's fine, Tasha. I have eyes on him, don't worry."

At this, Natasha smirked, leaving Clint curious and confused. "Oh, yeah, you've got eyes on him all right. Eyes, hands, soft brown hair. Legs too, I'm sure, if she's gotten that comfortable with him."

Steve's eyebrows shot up and it took him a few seconds to formulate a response. "I... Their relationship isn't like that." The uncertainty on his face made Clint laugh harder than he intended to.

"Oh, well it probably wasn't before the hospital visit, but I'm sure they've been very busy bonding over the last couple of days. That seemed like his intention when I asked him, anyway."

"Wait, you _talked_ to Bucky?"

Tony raised his hand as though he were a high schooler trying to get a teacher's attention. "I'm... confused. Did Rogers hire a lady friend for his fella, or?"

"What? No!" Steve's face grew slightly flushed. He wasn't the type to get easily flustered, not really, but apparently when it came to this subject there was no need to be anything other than open about it. "Of course not!"

"Then what the hell does Nat _mean_?" Tony asked, barely containing his laughter.

"I _mean_ that Sergeant Barnes was hit with some pretty intense romantic feelings. That girl's got him wrapped around her finger from what I picked up."

Clint honestly had no idea who the hell Natasha was talking about, but Tony seemed to catch right on. "Hold up." He turned to Steve and gave him an accusing look. "Are you letting your best friend _corrupt_ my college student?"

Finally, Clint was clued into the subject. "Wait, that dancer from MMC?"

Tony threw his hands up in the air, making a sound of indignation. " _Yes_ , the dancer from MMC! Damn it, Rogers, that girl is my legacy! I don't need your friend distracting her from her future!"

"You didn't even know you _sponsored_ a dancer until a few weeks ago, you pretentious tin can," Clint pointed out. Natasha turned around to give him a questioning look and Steve's laughter was just as genuine as Clint's had been when he'd been poking fun.

"Barton, what the _hell_ ," Tony sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Anyway, not the point. She may be the only performing arts major I have, but I'll be damned if that girl doesn't bring me into that industry. I have some _plans_ for her."

"So does _Barnes_ ," Natasha whispered. This, of course, caused Clint to crack up before he could get his reaction under control.

"I am, as I will always be, surrounded by children," Steve sighed, rolling his eyes. "Andrea said she's pretty sure that Bucky only sees her as a friend."

"In that case she's either blind or lying," Natasha informed him. "I saw Barnes in that hospital, pacing outside her room. He was a total wreck; he's in with that girl for the long run, and from what I gathered, I'm almost positive she reciprocates. It's very romantic."

Steve was about to retort when a buzzing sounded. Pausing, he took his phone from his pocket and read the caller ID. "See, this is her now. I'll prove it." With that, he answered his phone and pressed it to his ear.

The conversation was hushed and Steve was too far away for Clint to be able to make out much of anything. He wondered why he had that girl's number and why he was being so secret about the conversation. Eventually, he turned back to the rest of them and placed his phone back in the pocket of his jeans.

After a beat or two passed, he opened his mouth and said, "I stand corrected."

Tony's eyebrows knit together. "Wait, what? Did she actually call you out of nowhere to admit that they were screwing each other? Talk about a coincidence."

Steve's face was strangely pale. "No, that... wasn't her. That was Bucky."

\--

"Can I borrow your phone for today?" Bucky asked, trailing his finger's down Sasha's arm as she stood from the bed. It was early morning and she'd woken to get ready for school, but it wasn't early enough for him to be completely grumpy.

"What for?" she asked, curiosity on her face.

"Just to look up a few things on the Internet. I'd ask for your laptop, but you need it for classes."

You won't be able to text me all day," she pointed out, arching her back in a stretch and rolling her shoulders. "Not that I'm being clingy or anything, I just know you're more comfortable with being able to talk with me." As she finished her stretch, she made her way over to her closet and began selecting clothing.

"I'll... give you mine." His words weren't meant to sound as hesitant as they ended up, but Bucky found that the more he looked at Sasha, the easier it was to get distracted.

It hadn't been like this in the forties, that much he was concretely aware of. A girl's body hadn't ever phased him so badly; in fact, typically it was his body that did the phasing, always striking girls speechless or distracting them from their train of thought. The first few times Bucky had seen a girl's body he'd gone through something similar, but as his experience grew, his wonder diminished. It was a sad thing to think about, that wonder slipping away, but a very natural one. It seemed, however, that the tables had turned, and Bucky was unaware of if that had been for better or for worse.

Sasha was fully clothed in her pajamas, a pair of cotton pants and a camisole, only a small amount of her skin visible. They hadn't slept together the night before; or, they technically had, but not in the sexual sense. He looked at her, though, from his place on her bed, and couldn't help but think about it. She was fully clothed and humming to herself in such an innocently sweet way, tugging on her hair and trying to decide which clothes she should put on, but he wanted to stare at her for hours and let himself be mesmerized.

Which was interesting, because he hadn't thought about engaging in activities like those in such a long time. Hell, he'd had no reason to, but now? Now he was free and he had a girlfriend who was bringing out who he used to be and he wanted to show her that he loved her in all the ways he could. By kissing her, by holding her, whispering and letting her know that he loved her. He could do that; he _would_ do that, and he'd mean it.

Bucky had been so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed Andrea had left the room and then come back, wearing a red V-neck and black jeans. She'd even had time to sweep her hair up into a bun on the top of her head, which made him realize just how long he'd been wrapped up in his own thoughts. His thought process had been interrupted, but not quite broken.

"I have to go," Sasha murmured, sitting down next to him on the edge of the bed. She let the pads of her fingers find his cheek and he wouldn't have admitted it out loud, but the touch of her skin on his felt like fire. Leaning forward and hovering above Bucky, just barely allowing her lips to brush his, she continued, "I'd rather stay here with you, and I feel like if I listen to anything you're about to say I'll end up doing that, but... I can't miss school."

Bucky laced a hand through the hair at the back of her head and gently pulled her down just the littlest amount, just so he could kiss her for a second. He'd meant it to be quick, but he got too excited and she was too compliant to stop him, so the peck he'd _meant_ to place on her mouth turned into something lasting a few minutes longer. Perhaps he should have learned his lesson by now, but honestly? The taste of Sasha's lips on his tongue was sweet enough to keep him from caring.

"I have to go," she murmured again, slightly more out of breath this time around. She pulled her phone from her pocket and exchanged it for the disposable one on her nightstand. Bucky could hear her heart beating rapidly. "Please try not to throw it at a lamp again, it's a miracle that it even survived the first time. I won't be back until later than usual, I've got work today too. You can only take advantage of sick pay for so long."

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," Bucky muttered. It would be just his luck to have Sasha unable to spend as much time with him as she had been as soon as they'd sorted out their relationship. In spite of the slight annoyance, he managed an understanding smile for her. "Who am I supposed to talk to while you're gone?"

"Hush, now. It's not like you were planning on _talking_ very much, now were you?"

"Point taken. I love you." It shocked him at how easily the words began to flow from his mouth now as opposed to the day before, but it thrilled him at the same time. He was learning to be open and it was because of her.

Sasha's smile warmed his heart. "I love you too. I'll see you when I get home, okay?"

Bucky nodded and gave her one last kiss, refusing to let the nature of it take on a mind of its own. "Have a nice day." With that, Sasha stood and left the room. He listened for the opening and closing of her apartment door, and once he heard it, he took her phone into his hands.

He wasn't sure if what he was about to do could be considered reckless on his part. Perhaps it wasn't the best plan, but he needed the reassurance and there wasn't anyone else in the world who could give it to him. If he was going to allow himself to openly care for Sasha the way he was doing, then they needed a safety net.

It took a few moments of ringing before the other line answered, but it eventually clicked on. "Andrea?" Steve's voice came through. Bucky would say that he sounded flustered if he didn't know any better.

"No, Andrea's at school." There was certainly no going back now; not after this. "This is Bucky."

"This... Bucky? That's really you? Why are you calling, is something wrong?" To an extent, yes, there was, and the certainty that Steve had that Bucky wouldn't call unless something was wrong almost made him feel regret. Of course, Steve wasn't incorrect, but Bucky was sure that the blond had hoped he would call him under different circumstances. Perhaps if things had played out between him and Sasha differently, if they hadn't decided to involve themselves in s relationship for just a little longer that's what would have happened. For now, this was needed and there'd be no changing it. Not for his sake, but for Sasha's.

"Nothing is _wrong_ , exactly. At least, I don't think anything is wrong, and I'd like to keep it that way. That's why I'm calling you." God, could he have sounded any more idiotic?

There was a pause. Bucky was sure that Steve was contemplating the meaning of his words, and either he'd found what he'd been looking for or he'd given up all together, because his next words were, "What can I do for you?"

_An excellent question,_ Bucky thought. "I just wanted to ask a favor of you. I know you don't owe me anything and I know that it's really fucked up that the only reason I'm calling you is because I need a favor, but I don't trust myself and I'm trying to keep her safe. You're the only one that I can trust with her safety besides myself."

"It's not fucked up at all," Steve reassured him after another minute. "If there's something I can do for you, I'd be happy to do it. Just because we don't talk anymore doesn't mean that I won't help you. Besides, Alexandrea's gone through enough trouble, and if it'll help her then it's the least I can do. Talk to me, Bucky."

Well, it would be best to start somewhere, right? Maybe this would put him on the fast track to finally mending the one friendship that continually haunted him. Steven Rogers was about to help him, and so maybe he could do the one thing he knew he had in his power to help Steven Rogers.

"I don't know what I'm doing anymore, Stevie," he sighed, looking up at the ceiling. He wasn't quite sure where the nickname came from, but it felt natural. "I thought I could keep her safe, but it gets harder and harder everyday. If the two of us keep on the way we are, Hydra's gonna notice. If that happens again, she will die; I know she will. I don't like talking like that, but I know how they work."

"Okay, okay, I get that. Do you really think they'll kill her just out of spite, though? I mean, I know what they're capable of, but they know you'd never agree to go back to them if they killed her, don't they?"

Bucky's jaw clenched. "My feelings don't mean much to them when they can just wipe me clean. Besides, you were at the hospital that night; you know how far they're willing to go."

"How'd you know I was at the hospital?"

"Natalia was there. And where Natalia is, you're more than likely to be. I learned that the hard way on the bridge back in D.C."

Steve cleared his throat on the other line. "Right, okay. But, I'm still confused. What exactly is it that you want me to do? How can I help?"

For a moment, Bucky had to think. How could Steve help? How involved was he willing to let his old friend be, and how direct could he have him be without drawing too much of Sasha's attention?

The answer came to him in just another moment. "Every Monday at three in the afternoon. Call her, ask her how she's doing or ask her how I'm doing, I don't care what excuse you use, but call her. If she doesn't pick up, you'll know there's a problem."

"Three in the afternoon specifically?"

"Yeah. She has class every Monday and she always gets out to change back into her clothes right at three. It's exactly when she gets her phone back. Call her every Monday, and if she doesn't answer or call back in fifteen minutes, she's in trouble. I mean, I know she calls you, but I don't know how often that takes place."

"How'd you know about-?"

"The night of the accident I threw her phone and it shattered a lamp. When I found it, it was fine, but there was an unlistened to voicemail from an unsaved number. It was you. Which, I get it, she was convinced she was doing the right thing and so were you, it's not a big deal."

There was silence for a moment. Then, "You're a good guy, Buck. I hope you remember that much, at least. I'll call her every week, I promise."

Despite himself, Bucky smiled. "I appreciate it. And, um, I'm... sorry... I know that you wanted me to..." He stopped himself and rolled his eyes. He might have perfected emotional talks with Sasha, but he was going to have to work to make this a regular thing. "Maybe I'll see you soon. Good bye."

He hung up without waiting for a response.

\--

"You look like you've got a few things on your mind."

Sam turned to see who'd managed to find him. He and Steve had turned up at Avenger's Tower several hours ago, and although he'd been absent for Steve's reunion with everybody currently occupying the tower, minus Doctor Banner and Thor, he'd since met up with everybody on his own time. The voice he'd just heard, however, remained unfamiliar, which meant that someone new must have entered the tower.

The woman he found was shorter than he was, dressed in business attire, her blonde hair swept back in a simple ponytail. She didn't look like she was a threat or anything, but Sam had learned over the years never to judge someone's hostility by way of their appearance. Still, she'd been permitted inside the tower, hadn't she? Which meant that she couldn't have possibly been there to harm him.

The blonde slowly walked forward, giving Sam a gentle smile. "Little tense, too. Might do you some good to get away from your thoughts." Offering him her hand, she finally introduced herself. "I'm Pepper Potts. It's nice to meet you."

Oh, okay, that made sense. This would be the woman that Tony was dating, then.

Accepting Pepper's hand, Sam returned the smile and laughed a little. She was right; he was acting pretty on edge. He'd immediately assumed that Pepper posed a threat to him upon seeing her. "Great to meet you too, ma'am. My name's Sam Wilson."

"Oh, no, no, no, I am _not_ a ma'am. Please call me Pepper, you have no idea how many people call me ma'am in business meetings. You're Steve's friend from the D.C. attacks, right?"

"Yes, I am. We met one morning while we were out running the same path and it all went downhill from there."

Sam figured the easier the event was to some up, the easier it was to look back on it in a lighthearted way. Steve and Natasha showing up at his door covered in dust and debris from the bunker explosion? God damn _hilarious_.

"Sounds pretty damn close to the first time Tony had been abducted," Pepper mused, a thoughtful look on her face. The two of them fell into silence for a moment and the wind picked up a little, blowing harder than it had the entire time Sam had been on the roof. "What are you doing up here, Sam?" Pepper asked, crossing her arms to give herself some semblance of warmth. "It's pretty chilly."

He shook his head and shrugged, wondering if he should tell a woman he'd just met what exactly was going on in his life. Of course, she wasn't a dangerous stranger or anything; she was an ally, Tony's girlfriend. Technically, being who she was, she'd be the best choice of anyone to share with. "Well, it's like you said, Pepper. I've got a few things on my mind."

Pepper nodded, letting her gaze focus on the many buildings of the Manhattan city skyline. Sam looked with her, taking in the lights of the buildings and street lamps and cars. Living in D.C. had given him a deeper appreciation for big cities and he was beginning to find that Manhattan was a beautiful place. "How bad of a problem is it?"

Well, hell. He may as well just say it out loud.

"Long story short? My baby half sister who I didn't even know existed up until a few months ago is the daughter of a dead leader of the long time nazi organization that actually just tried to kill her like two or three weeks ago. She's getting herself romantically involved with my new best friend's old best friend, who just so happens to be an ex assassin responsible for leveling Washington D.C., performing a shit ton of political killings, and maybe even the freaking JFK assassination; the file wasn't clear. Which, I mean, that's totally fine, she's a smart girl and she can take care of herself, but seventy six years is a hell of an age gap for a twenty year old in college, don't you think? Adding on to _that_ , I'm still debating on whether or not I should tell her that we're related, because if I tell her that, I have to tell her who her real father is, and I don't want her to alienate herself from her new boyfriend by telling him that her father is the guy that had been brainwashing him for years. Honestly, that's enough to make any guy run for the hills and she's all ready had a tough life from what I've read and observed."

Beside him, Pepper cleared her throat. "So... bad, then?"

Sam let out a breath in the form of a humorless laugh. "Pretty horrible, actually. Whenever I try to think about telling her, I just remember all the negative repercussions it'll bring down on her, and then I try to factor in the ones that could happen that I have no idea about. Would Hydra even allow her to know who she is, or do they have a specific kill policy if that happens? Or worse, are they gonna try to turn her Hydra as soon as she finds out? Would she even believe me?"

"You could protect her, couldn't you?" Pepper asked. "We could always bring her here. There's no way she wouldn't be safe living in Avenger's Tower." _That_ was certainly an idea.

"We could. She doesn't even know us, though. I mean, Steve and I have talked to her a few times, but it's mostly been Steve, and only because he's been asking her to keep him updated on his pal. She's got no idea how she factors into all of this."

Placing a tentative hand on Sam's shoulder, Pepper waited a moment and thought before speaking. Sam couldn't help but wonder how in the hell Tony Stark, the actual king of sarcastic assholes, had gotten such an analytical, deep girlfriend. "It sounds like you've got a choice to make," she finally stated, offering him an empathetic smile.

Sam nodded, then used a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. "It does seem like that, doesn't it?"


	15. Imminent Threats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so apparently while I was updating this story, Chapter 12 had been saved as a draft and was never posted, so you guys never got to see it! It's up now, though, I just took care of it! I would suggest going back to take a look at it, there have been several references to it that you may have missed out on because you didn't get the chance to read it. Anyways, enjoy!

"Welcome back, kid! Glad to see you aren't dead!"

Andrea rolled her eyes, standing from behind the soda bar. Before her stood Julian Mendez, a tall and lean twenty four year old whom she'd met the day she'd come to apply for the waitressing position she currently held. Julian was a sweet guy, the type that acted all smarmy and self absorbed, but one that Andrea had gone to several times with nervous break downs due to schoolwork and the general difficulties of life.

It _also_ didn't exactly hurt that he was easy to look at, all handsome and skinny with his beautiful green eyes set against tanned skin, but that was an infatuation of the past. It seemed that these days, Andrea found a particular sense of joy in gazing at a certain someone's baby blues while his voice murmured sweet Russian nothings into her ear.

God, did she want to skip out on work and head home early. As soon as she'd walked out her front door in the morning for school, she'd begun craving the sort of physical contact she'd started getting used to.

Clearing her throat and beginning on filling the cups she'd just grabbed with ice, Andrea said, "Hey, Julian. How's it been?"

Julian smiled, a sarcastic sort of glint in his green eyes and a big brother kind of stance about his posture. "Well, it's gonna go a hell of a lot better now that you're back and they don't need me working doubles anymore. What happened to you, kid? I couldn't get the whole story from the boss; they said it was 'need to know' and apparently your ever so charming waiter friend isn't considered to have the need."

There were two ways she could try to work out the situation she was currently presented with. The first was that she could tell the truth and let Julian know exactly what happened. Or, as much as she was allowing herself to tell everybody else. No one except those who were already informed about Hydra needed to hear anything about them, as she was sure if she just began rambling on about some crazy organization that tried to kill her, she'd be deemed insane. Her second option was that she could totally lie about what had gone down a few weeks ago, of what Bucky had managed to save her from. That was what she'd had to do with Nova, just to keep her safe. Perhaps she should do the same with Julian.

Andrea shrugged, placing one of the cups under a soda spout and pressing the button to fill it. "I still can't remember exactly what happened; I must've blocked it out subconsciously or something. The police ruled it as a random gang attack, but they're not quite sure which gang to assign the credit. Not a lot of them are still handy with knives or very keen on letting their victims live, so they're looking into it."

Julian gave a low whistle, a sound that meant he was either impressed or horrified. "Damn, kid, that's some tough stuff. And you've been okay at home and all? No problems since then?" Andrea couldn't even remember the last time Julian had sounded so genuinely concerned for her wellbeing.

She nodded, switching the full cup out for another filled with ice and placing it onto her serving tray. "Oh, yeah, haven't had any problems there. I live in a fairly nice building, so the landlord couldn't get away with not taking action without everybody else filing complaints about how they were worried for their personal safety. They changed the locks and amped the security system."

Which her landlord had seemed a bit unhappy about, but he'd had to take the necessary measures to keep his tenants happy. Andrea almost felt guilty about it; not on the account that the building was being provided with better protection, but because of the fact that she was potentially putting her neighbors in harm's way.

"Huh," her friend let out, arching an eyebrow and making himself comfortable against the counter. "I always did love the landlords in this city. They're all just _so_ eager to keep people safe."

Andrea shrugged, not wanting to get Julian started on one of his more passionate rants. Normally she loved hearing him talk and call out all of the bullshit that was going on within society, but at current she wasn't interested in complaining about her semi-selfish landlord who wouldn't even be having the problem they were if Andrea hadn't been so keen on at least being Bucky's friend. Really, it all lead back to her doing, but she couldn't think about that; she had a table to get to.

Placing two more cups onto her serving tray and pushing the last one under one of the spouts on the soda fountain, then placing her finger on the button, Andrea replied, "It's whatever, I guess, there's not really much any of us can do about it. I think I'd be a little more freaked out about it if I lived by myself."

Julian tilted his head a little, taking a moment to ponder over her words before pointing out, "But... you _do_ live by yourself."

Smiling and shaking her head, Andrea glanced over at Julian and gave him a small smirk. It must have been longer than she'd thought it had since she'd informed him about certain things in her personal life. "No I don't. At least, not anymore. My roommate moved in a week or two ago, so I'm not completely paranoid while I'm at home."

"Roommate?" Julian inquired, grabbing straws and placing them onto Andrea's tray so that she could give them to her customers when she made it back to their table. "What's her name? She a cute one?"

Andrea rolled her eyes, unable to help how amused the situation was making her. " _His_ name is James and he's about as cute as they come."

"Wait, _what_?"

She shook her head, picking up her serving tray and starting to walk off, a devious smile shaping her lips. "I have to take these drinks to the customers, Jules, we can talk more in a few minutes."

The indignant cry that sounded as she fled the soda fountain made it clear that she was only going to be able to taunt Julian with the vague information she'd provided him with for maybe the service of one or two tables before he pulled her into the kitchen and made her spill her guts. Still. It was always nice to have some playful banter with Julian.

Andrea made it to the small family she was serving and presented them with their sodas, then proceeded to take their food orders and run them back to the kitchen. For a few moments she was sure that Julian was going to pounce on her and demand that she explain to him her new roommate, but he must have been needed at a different table, as he wasn't where they usually rendezvoused on their downtime.

"Excuse me," a quiet voice sounded from behind her, "are you Miss Jamison?"

Turning, Andrea found an average looking middle aged man standing before her. At least, she _thought_ he was middle aged; it was hard to figure out with his sunglasses obscuring half his face. He was wearing a business suit and had dark hair that seemed to have begun receding. If Andrea wasn't paying any attention she could say that he looked like any of the other men she saw walking through Manhattan on her way to school, but something about him seemed... off.

"Uh, yeah, that's me," she answered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and trying to figure out who she was talking to and how they knew her name. "Can I help you?"

The man shook his head. "No, Miss, but I believe I may have something that can help you." Before she could even think to ask, the man reached into his pocket and pulled out a small white envelope. "It was requested by your father that this object be given to you in the event of his death. I've come to deliver it personally."

Well, _that_ was certainly something she didn't hear everyday. It was something she didn't hear _at all_ , actually, and she was beginning to wonder if she should start getting creeped out. Andrea wasn't sure what was sketchier: the fact that this guy knew her name or the fact that he was claiming to have had contact with her father.

"Sorry, sir," Andrea replied, attempting to sound somewhat pleasant. If she started telling someone off for their idea of a sick joke while in the restaurant _and_ in uniform, she could kiss her job goodbye. "I think you're about a half a decade late. My father died when I was fifteen. That was five years ago."

"Oh, you're adoptive father did, yes." Andrea didn't like the cold smile the man was presenting her with. "You're biological father, however, only just passed about three or four months ago. We would have reached out to you sooner, but it took us some time to locate you."

Her biological father? Was this guy being serious? From the look on his face, yes, but Andrea didn't know if she was going to be able to swallow the potential bullshit that this guy may or may not have been attempting to feed her. Even if he was telling the truth, she'd been a closed adoption. Her biological parents wouldn't have been allowed to contact her or her adoptive parents until she was legally eighteen, and with that birthday having been only two years ago, she saw it as slightly doubtful that her apparently deceased biological father would have had anything of importance to say to her after his death.

"Listen, man, I don't think-"

"Just take the envelope, Miss. It was one of your father's dying wishes that you possess it. I'm sure there are further instructions inside of it." He pushed the envelope into her hand and closed her fingers around it to keep her from dropping it. "You'll have to excuse me for not introducing myself, I think it ensures the both of us a bit more safety where certain people you're involved with are concerned. I think it's about time for me to be on my way. Until another time, Miss Jamison."

With that, the middle aged man with the sunglasses walked towards the exit of the restaurant and left, leaving Andrea to herself for a moment to ponder what had just gone down.

Huh. A gift from her deceased biological father. What the hell was she supposed to make of that?

\--

"I mean, I'm just saying, if you're asking for my _opinion_? I prefer the black one."

Bucky watched as Sasha sighed and threw herself down beside him on the bed in exasperation. Luckily she was faced down, causing her to miss his amused smile. "Ugh, you are _so_ not making this easier on me. I said white or blue, not black."

"No," he corrected, "you asked me which dress I thought looked best on you, and I told you. I don't get why you're making such a big deal out of this, doll."

It was early evening, around five or six, and Sasha had come home from work on a mission. He'd been lounging on the sofa trying to decide which book from her collection was worth picking up when she'd stormed through the door, grabbed him by the arm to pull him back towards the bedroom, and started rattling off something about boyfriend time and dresses. As it turned out, what she'd wanted was his opinion on which dance dress she should wear for her showcase in the next week, and as it turned out that she didn't have the money for a brand new dress, they'd have to make do with what she already had.

Bucky hadn't minded offering her his opinion. Actually, he quite enjoyed the cute little show he was getting out of it, seeing her walk back and forth between the bathroom and her bedroom, noticing the little flush in her cheeks as she presented each dress to him. The only thing he _did_ mind about the whole thing was how difficult it was to settle on one.

They'd started with the pink dress, a pastel, gauzy sort of thing; he'd found it a bit too juvenile for his tastes and hadn't felt very bad about vocalizing his thoughts. Next came the green one, knee length and pleated and a color he found didn't quite suit her as well as it could. At least the purple one had held some appeal for him, what with the sheer mesh skirt displaying how nice Sasha's legs were, but it hadn't quite been the right choice. After about the fifth turn of Sasha walking out of the room and into the bathroom, Bucky found himself wondering just how many dance dresses one girl was required to own when she'd come back wearing the black one.

Technically, to call it completely black wasn't quite correct, but, well, his little gothic assassin heart was willing to forgo the silver lacing up through the skirt and ending at her waist, along with the shimmering specks designed to imitate a pattern of stars. The straps on her shoulders were thin, connecting to the heart shaped neckline and seeming to continue into the decorative bands of material wrapping around her ribcage. He supposed it could be classified as a leotard, as that was what it was without the skirt, but with the addition of a few layers of mesh, it gave the outfit the appearance of a dress that reached the middle of Sasha's thigh.

She'd looked mildly upset when she'd first come back from the bathroom, and for one horrible moment, Bucky thought it had been because she'd caught sight of the little scars tracing along her arms and legs. They were noticeable, of course, mostly from an up-close perspective, and they were even easier to see because of their multitude. The type of look Sasha had on her face was one of self consciousness, and if it was caused because of the little lacy scars she now possessed, then he'd have to figure out a way to reassure her that they didn't in any way decrease her value as a person. He'd had to be told something like that many times in his war days before he learned to take on his scars; it was different, though, because he'd been _expecting_ them.

Sasha hadn't.

It was sort of a bittersweet relief when instead she looked at him and stated, "This one makes me feel like I'm twenty sizes bigger than I actually am."

Needless to say, that shocked him into silence for one or two seconds. "Sashen'ka. That one has to be the most beautiful by far; what on earth are you talking about?"

She shrugged and padded over to him, slowly spinning in a small circle so that he could get the full effect. "I don't know, it just feels kind of tight. I haven't worn this one in years, actually. You really like it?"

It wasn't that he liked the _dress_ , per se; indeed, the dress itself was a very pretty thing and was aesthetically pleasing to the eye. Seeing Sasha _wearing_ the dress, however? That was something of another experience entirely.

Bucky wasn't sure what it was about the outfit, but it seemed to be hitting him particularly hard and in an interesting way. There was a specific type of temptation he was feeling, something deep in his heart or stomach or chest or _wherever_ it was, saying it would be smart to act upon his feelings in that exact moment. He almost agreed with it, almost consented to letting himself throw all caution to the wind for just a little while, but some little voice in his mind kept him back. _It's not the right time,_ it seemed to say, and for better or for worse, he agreed.

Giving Sasha a full grin and placing his hands on either side of her body, he murmured, "I love this one. I... _suppose_ it doesn't hurt that I get to see you in a short skirt, but I promise you that's not the only reason I like it."

"Is that so?" Sasha laughed, an entertained little quirk shaping her mouth. "Well if that's the case, I'll keep this one under consideration. I have two more for you to see, though. You can give me an official opinion once you see those, okay?"

It hadn't mattered much that she'd had two more dresses to model for him; he was already completely sold on that black one. It was gorgeous on her, it looked lovely, and he felt as though that was the one she should dance in. Unfortunately, she couldn't seem to get passed the fact that it made her feel slightly self conscious and had moved on to her next two dresses, blue and white, which was how they'd come to a disagreement.

"This recital's important, that's all," Sasha sighed, rolling over and curling up next to Bucky. The tulle of her blue skirt spilled onto his leg, the light from the window casting a netted shadow across his pants. "Every little thing's gotta be perfect and it's driving me fucking _crazy_. My dance partner's really on edge because we haven't had a lot of time to practice thanks to the accident, my instructor is harping me because she wants me to give a solid performance, Nova's high strung because of _her_ partner and routine, and _mine_ is annoyed because I still haven't told him what color dress I'm wearing so he can coordinate."

Bucky had faced a lot of stress and annoyance in his lifetime, but he wondered what it was like to feel it towards something that, in theory, was extremely trivial but could potentially make or break his career.

He'd never had to worry about college; hell, he'd only barely managed to make it through high school while taking care of his sisters, if memory served correctly, and it was because of his impromptu guardianship of those three girls that he'd had to throw college out the window. It drove him crazy that he was still unsure of the girls' names after having looked after them for so long, but he knew he'd taken care of them well enough until he'd been drafted. Bucky was sure he could probably find their names on the internet, but that felt almost like cheating. His sisters deserved for him to remember them on his own.

Placing a sympathetic hand on Sasha's shoulder, he replied, "Then let me help take some of the anxiety away by helping you with this choice, okay? Tell your dance partner you're wearing your black dress, because it's absolutely wonderful. I promise you. If anyone says otherwise, well. Your boyfriend _is_ a trained killer, now isn't he?"

Sasha rolled her eyes, but Bucky could already tell that some of her stress had begun to melt away. Scooting closer to Bucky so as to place a kiss on his cheek, she murmured, "Oh, trust me, he's a lot more than that."

Doing her one better, Bucky leaned his face down so that his lips were just slightly touching hers. Her change in breathing was almost instantaneous and he could practically hear her pulse speeding up. She tried to close the gap between their mouths, but he backed away the tiniest bit and mumbled, " _Net, Sasha. Poka yeshche net._ Say you'll do it first."

"Okay, _fine_ ," she let out, "I'll tell my partner I'm wearing the black one, all right? Now, _please_. This is _so_ unfair."

Honestly, he was as happy to oblige as she was to accept it. Bucky pressed his lips to hers and let his mind quiet for a moment or two, just taking in the physical contact and reveling in it. These soft contacts were the ones Bucky lived for, the ones he cherished the most, and the ones he would always do his best to shower his Sasha with.

When he moved away from her, she sighed and blinked her eyes, telling him, "One day I'm gonna figure out how to get over you. You could kiss me and tell me to jump off a bridge, and I'd probably do it because I'm legitimately stuck on you."

"For my sake," Bucky chuckled, "I hope that day never comes."

They laid together for a few minutes in silence, Bucky wrapping his arms around Sasha and holding her close when she said, "Oh, hey, I meant to tell you. Something really sketchy happened at work today."

"Yeah?" God, he really hoped it hadn't been some weird creep catcalling her again, otherwise he may actually have to start walking her to and from work. "What was it?"

"So I was waitressing tables and in the middle of my shift some random guy walked up and started talking to me."

Oh, fucking _superb_.

"I mean, I hadn't ever seen him before, but he knew my name and started talking about how he had something my dad wanted me to have in case he died."

Was it too much to ask to just be able to relax with his girlfriend for like two seconds? Was the entire god damned universe just dead set on throwing some type of problem his and Sasha's way every time things seemed to settle down? He wasn't sure what exactly he'd done to piss off the person in charge of destiny, but clearly it had been a big deal to somebody.

"Your dad died when you were fifteen," Bucky stated as a prompt for her to continue.

Sasha nodded and replied with, "Yeah, that's why I thought it was so weird, but the guy insisted that he was talking about my biological father, who'd apparently passed away like three or four months ago."

"Wait, hang on." Bucky sat up and stood quickly, giving himself only a fraction of a second to adjust to the sudden change in position. "You said he wanted to give you something. Did you take it?"

"Well, he didn't give me much of a choice. He shoved it in my hand and walked out. It was just an envelope."

And if she hadn't opened it, she didn't know what it was, which meant that there was an unidentified object in the house that had about a fifty-fifty chance of being lethal. "Where is it now?"

Sensing that Bucky was growing increasingly tense, Sasha stood along with him and replied, "It's in my purse, on the kitchen counter. You don't think it's from...?"

Bucky was already heading for the door, calling over his shoulder, "It wouldn't be the first time."

Her purse was just where she'd said it was, resting on the kitchen counter next to where she'd carelessly thrown her keys. Carefully sliding the keys further away from the purse, he bent his head right above the bag and listened closely. After hearing nothing for a solid two minutes, he announced, "It's not an IED or any type of time sensitive explosive. How full was the envelope?"

From somewhere behind him, Sasha replied, "Not very. From what I remember it was pretty light. Whatever's in it, it's gotta be small."

Bucky raised his head and used his left hand to reach into Sasha's purse and extract the envelope. If there was any type of harm the object could cause, it wouldn't have much effect on the metal. He'd be able to feel it, of course, but a feeling would be all that it remained. Placing the envelope on the counter and using a finger to tear the lip open, he reached inside and gently pulled out the small object inside.

"What is that?" Sasha asked, moving forward once it was clear that there wasn't an existing threat.

The small little device he held in his hand was something he'd seen before, but he wasn't quite sure what its name was. The little rectangle of paper taped to it reading 'plug in' didn't help him much either. He turned to show Sasha, thinking she might have better luck with the identification process than he did. "I can't say. Do you know what this is?"

Stepping a little closer, Sasha narrowed her eyes and reached for the little rectangular item. "It's a flash drive, they plug into computers. You can save a bunch of information on them, they saved my ass when I had to write all my application essays for college. Why would my biological father want to give me a flash drive in case he died?"

Bucky shrugged, running a hand through his hair and taking the flash drive back from her. "Only one way to find out. Where's your laptop?"


	16. When in a Crisis

"So this guy that Steve brought home. Do you think he's into Zeppelin? He looks like a Zeppelin kinda guy."

Bruce Banner, pausing his work and tilting his head, thought on the question for a moment before answering with, "He looks decidedly like a jazz man. Why's it matter?"

Tony rolled his eyes and gave Bruce a 'duh' look. "Well I need _some_ way to bond with him, don't I? Can't just have Steve's new friend be _only_ Steve's friend; he might start trying to tell me people like him better."

Despite the serious look Tony had on his face, the one that was often present when he was saying the most ridiculous things, Bruce cracked a smile. "Because 'Nice to meet you, I'm Tony. What's your name?' is way too straight forward, is that it?"

That particular comment earned Bruce a paper ball careening past his head, missing its mark based on the fact that Tony's aim when it came to regular items sucked. "Don't be smart, Banner, that won't work. I already know his name, and he knows I know it. If I ask him for it, he'll think I'm awkward, and that's the shit I don't like."

Bruce chuckled, going back to the blueprints he'd been working over for the past few days. Together, he and Tony had managed to create a type of contact lens that wired back to a camera feed in the lab; they'd figured it could be useful for future intel work and undercover missions, especially with the fact that Hydra wouldn't be able to tap the feeds and see what the remainder of S.H.I.E.L.D. was up to. The contacts worked great, but he still needed to figure out how to incorporate an audio feed before they were completely ready. Tony was _supposed_ to be helping him, but it seemed that his mind was somewhere else.

"You think Thor might know what our error is here?" Bruce questioned aloud, side eyeing Tony and watching as the shorter man gave some thought to the matter.

"I mean, I guess. Asgard does just happen to be slightly more advanced than us. I'll see about contacting him?"

"Perfect," Bruce responded.

"Okay, here's an idea," Tony started up again after a few minutes, wandering over to Bruce's work desk and leaning himself against it. "Why don't you Hulk out and and grab Sam, yeah? Just for a few minutes? So you'll grab him and drag him to the top of the tower, okay, and I'll suit up and save him from you. After that, you can apologize for attacking him accidentally on purpose and he'll wanna be my best friend."

"God, I love it when you have to get used to new people," Bruce commented, scratching out one of the mathematical figures in the blueprint, "you've got no idea what to do with yourself. I am _not_ some glorified version of King Kong, by the way. You want someone willing to go down that path, ask Thor. Hell, I'm sure Barton would get a kick out of it."

Tony scoffed. "Please. Barton is _so_ not threatening enough."

As if right on cue, a body dropped from the ceiling and landed loudly on the floor. Clint, dressed in sweatpants and a black t-shirt, stood up and glared at Tony. "Heard you were talking shit, Stark."

In response, Tony threw his arms up in the air. "I swear to god, you have _no_ life, do you? What even do you do in the vents all day? The system's not that big, it's not like it's Daedalus's Labyrinth, you have to have been around the building about fifty thousand times since you've started sneaking around in them!"

Clint crossed his arms and looked downright offended. "As far as I'm concerned, those vents are my kingdom and I am the Vent King. How's it going, Bruce?"

Bruce smiled and waved. "It's going great, Clint. What brings you here?"

"The sick joy he gets out of annoying me," Tony muttered, swiping the blueprints up from Bruce's desk and staring them down. Try as he might to hide it, Bruce could see past the upset, complaining facade he was putting on; Tony _liked_ bantering with Clint.

Clint rolled his eyes and came a little closer to Bruce's work desk. "I actually came to ask something about that college girl you're so interested in. Turns out Tasha was doing a favor for Steve and Sam just before she showed up at home and that girl's file came into the mix."

Ah, yes, the student that Tony insisted was going to be what put a Stark Industries company into the world of performing arts. Now, _there_ was an idea Bruce would like to see come to light. He'd always had a particular respect for the art of ballet; swing dancing was pretty charming as well.

"Okay, so shoot."

For a moment, Clint seemed to look a bit unsure. This, in and of itself, was slightly alarming; Clint wasn't one to be unsure of much. "Did you know she was adopted?"

"Yeah. It's in her school records, which I have. I give the girl a scholarship Barton, come on now."

"Okay, well... Were you aware of the fact that her biological father was Alexander Pierce?"

It was as if a bomb had gone off in the one second of silence after Clint had finished speaking. Vaguely, in the back of his mind, Bruce remembered that Alexander Pierce had been the leader of Hydra agents within S.H.I.E.L.D. for about as long as he'd been in the agency, and that he'd recently been gunned down on Nick Fury's part. If what Clint was saying was true, there were two scenarios that could potentially come out of that fact.

The first was that she knew of her ties to Hydra and was working undercover for them as an agent while feigning ignorance to seduce the Winter Soldier, ultimately leading him back into Hydra's grasp and gaining them a powerful advantage to use as they pleased. Bruce wasn't sure of this one; he'd heard about the hell the agency had inflicted on that poor girl, had listened to Steve recount the events over the phone and conversed with Natasha about it after the situation had apparently dredged up feelings she'd long ago buried. It seemed unlikely that Hydra would go so far just to make something as simple as an agent's cover story believable, but then, the group _had_ been founded on extremist ideas.

Then there was the alternative, being that the girl had absolutely _no idea_ who her father was and could potentially be in harm's way at that exact moment. Bruce wasn't quite sure what Hydra's policy was on dealing with the uninformed daughters of assassinated leaders, but he couldn't think of an outcome that would be pleasant for her. They'd already made it clear that they weren't against killing her; for Christ's sake, they'd mutilated her to make a _statement_. God only knew what else they could do to her.

Tony seemed to be holding himself uncharacteristically still. It was evident to Bruce that practically every thought he'd just had was currently flying through his friend's mind, and once Tony glanced down at him to make eye contact, he knew they'd have to take some form of action regardless of what the girl's situation currently was.

"Did Romanov not think this shit was _important_?" Tony hissed, kicking the side of Bruce's desk. The loud crash the impact made echoed throughout the room, and the initial action made Bruce flinch slightly.

"Hey," Clint objected, a defensive expression settling about his face, "Tasha's the reason I'm up here, okay? She _asked_ me to tell you."

"Well, why the _hell_ didn't she think to say something as soon as she got home? Are you fucking _serious_ , Barton? Does Rogers know?" Another crash sounded as Tony kicked the desk again.

Bruce put his arm out, placing his hand on Tony to give him some sort of calming factor. "Cool it down, Tony. Clint's not the one in the wrong here, okay?"

Clint looked like he wanted to interject, but Bruce shot him a look that clearly said _quit while you're ahead_. "Does Steve know about this, Clint?"

After a moment of silence so tense it made Bruce uncomfortable, Clint answered with, "I don't think so. Sam might, but Steve... I'm not sure."

Well. It was angering, to say the least, but Bruce couldn't afford to lose his cool. Not at the time. "Right, okay. Maybe we should put everyone on the same page, then. Tony?"

Taking a deep breath, Tony opened his mouth and ground out, "Jarvis?"

The familiar accented voice called back, "What can I assist you with, Sir?"

"Get everyone up to the lab. Tell them it's Hydra and it's important. I'm sure they'll want to know what we just learned."

"Will that be all?"

Bruce watched as Tony sighed hard and said, "For the moment."

\--

"Okay, this is literally just a black screen. I'd say this is somebody's stupid idea of a prank, but that guy knew too much about me for that to be a thing, and I just-"

Andrea was cut off in the middle of her confused monologue when a red emblem flashed it's way onto her computer screen. "Jesus Christ, what is _that_?"

Bucky, who had remained silent and tense the entire time she'd taken to retrieve her laptop from her room and the ten minutes it had taken for her to remember how exactly to open the file on the flash drive, somehow found it in himself to fucking _smile_  at the startled little jump she'd given when the emblem popped up. Provided, it was a dark smile that didn't manage to reach his eyes, but still. "Hydra," he muttered, leaning back for a moment and pinching the bridge of his nose, "It's _always_ Hydra."

She couldn't exactly say that she was surprised. Why she'd even bothered getting her hopes up for this, she had no idea. It wasn't something Andrea was willing to admit out loud, but she'd secretly hoped that what had been given to her actually was from her biological father. Maybe it made her stupidly sentimental, but she did have quite a large curiosity of where it was she'd originally come from.

"Well," she mumbled, tapping a few keys, "we may as well figure out what they want this time, yeah? You said the drive wasn't rigged."

Bucky waved a hand, letting go of his nose and looking impressively resigned. "Can't hurt, I guess."

Andrea didn't actually have to do very much. About one or two seconds after she tried to exit out of the full screen Hydra logo, the whole thing went blank again before shifting into a glitched out, technicolor background. For a second she was worried that the drive was a bad joke and had launched some sort of crippling computer virus into her laptop, but the background was quickly switched out with a full screen video, prompting her to click play.

"What the hell is going _on_?" Andrea whispered to herself. This was one of the most bizarre things she'd dealt with in some time, and seeing as her boyfriend had been born in 1917, that was _saying_ something. "God, this is _so_ weird."

"Click play, Sasha," Bucky prompted her quietly. Nodding slightly, she complied, weirdly anxious to see what she was about to watch.

The man's face was etched with many deep lines that must have been formed from everything he'd experienced in his life, the pallor of his skin managing to define them even further. His hair was the color of old cornsilk, and his eyes, set deep in his head, were a muted kind of light blue. Andrea didn't know this man; she couldn't say she'd ever seen him before in her life, and he didn't look anything like anyone she knew.

It was clear from the way that Bucky was tensing up beside her, however, that he knew _exactly_ who the man on her computer screen was. And when the man opened his mouth to begin speaking and Bucky _wasn't_ the one to be addressed, it definitely let her know that something was amiss.

"My dearest Alexandrea," the man began. His voice was gravelly with age, but there was something about it that sounded comforting, the way a father's would. Perhaps she should have picked up on what was happening right then and there, but Andrea didn't understand quite yet what was taking place. "I want to start off by giving you my sincerest apologies. If you're watching this, it means I've passed away before I could introduce myself to you the way I wanted, and this is something that causes me deep regret. Every girl deserves the chance to know her father as well as anyone else, and that's something I was never able to give to you. For this, I apologize."

"Bucky?" Andrea whispered, hopelessly confused. "I don't understand, what's this mean?"

She wasn't graced with a response.

On screen, the man kept going. "To put it simply, I'm your biological father and my name is Alexander Pierce. I'd like to think your mother named you after me just to keep us tied somehow; Alexandrea is far too close to Alexander for that to be much of a coincidence, don't you think?" Leave it to her to manage to have a father who was somehow affiliated with Hydra _and_ one who made stupid jokes. She supposed it was karma for all of the jokes that _she'd_ made, but this was a bit too much retaliation from the universe.

"Now, Alexandrea... here's the deal, darling. I'm dead. I'm dead, which means that my work in the world is currently at a standstill. On the drive that you've plugged into your computer are several files that explain wholly what my work pertained to and why it was beneficial to the world. I give you these files because I'm hoping you'll be open to continuing it for me, you see. I've watched you from afar your entire life, my dear, and you've managed to flourish throughout all of your hardships. Your resolve is far stronger than your half-sister's, and so I offer leadership of my organization to you."

 _Leadership_. The deceased man on her laptop was her father, the father she'd never known, and he had been the head of the organization that was finding its fun in tormenting Bucky and her. Her deceased biological father wanted her to actually _lead_ a group of people who had almost wiped out half the world's population because they hadn't wanted to deal with any future threats.

Andrea couldn't quite breathe correctly.

Slamming her laptop closed and pushing it as far away from herself as she could, Andrea stood and... wasn't at all sure what she could possibly do at that point. If she screamed, her neighbors might be under the impression that there was another intruder in the building and call the police. Breaking things wouldn't help her much, either; it might feel good at the time, but it could lead to bills that she didn't actually have the money to pay, depending on what she broke.

Once the first tear fell from her eye and she registered that it was, in fact, a tear, she couldn't seem to stop them flowing. They came quickly, stinging her eyes and stealing air from her lungs faster than she could hope to draw it, leaving her to sink down onto her knees and hiccup loudly. There wasn't need for this and she knew the longer she cried the longer the problem was simply being put off, but there was definitely something to mourn in this situation.

Bucky, of course, made an attempt to comfort her. Despite the shock he must have been going through, she could hear him slip off of the couch and down onto the ground, shuffling the few feet to where she knelt. He tried to place his arms around her, tried to offer her solace in an embrace as he had many times before, but that was the straw that broke her. His hands, both of them, attempted to touch her and she couldn't have pulled away fast enough.

Andrea couldn't look at him; she _wouldn't_. She knew exactly which facial expression would be dominating his features and it was one that she wouldn't be able to bear.

"Tell me... tell me how to help you, doll," he murmured, a funny sort of crack in his voice that Andrea wasn't a hundred percent sure she was hearing. "How can I make this easy on you?"

Was _that_ what was running through his mind?

"Are you fucking _kidding me_ right now?" she cried, batting the tears off of her face and sucking in a deep breath. It probably wasn't practical for her to start taking her emotions out on Bucky, and he certainly didn't deserve the abuse, but her anger and fear and confusion managed to screw over her logic enough to the point where she didn't care. Raising her eyes to his, she continued on. "We just found out that my father is the crazy homicidal psychopath who mistreated and hurt you for _years_ and you're worried about how _I_ feel? How does that even _work_ , Bucky? Why are you not trying to get as far away from me as you can?"

Bucky's voice was soft and as empathetic as he could make it under the current circumstances. "I'm worried about how you feel, yes, because I know that your thoughts and emotions are what cause you pain. Look at you, Sashen'ka, look at what you're _doing_ to yourself. You need to breathe, please, just- for God's _sake_ , Alexandrea, _breathe_."

The more she tried the less she could, and that startled the hell out of her. She wasn't sure what was going on with her, but Bucky's hands were on her shoulders and he was calling her Alexandrea, something he never ever called her, and she couldn't inhale because she was drowning. It wasn't exactly the sort of scenario anyone would particularly want to deal with.

"You shouldn't- I- We can't _do_ this," she bawled, the tears blinding and burning while she hid her face in her hands. Andrea wished she didn't have to say any of what she was about to say out loud; all of it echoed Bucky's thoughts from before they were together. "You shouldn't be seeing me, I don't- Bucky, we can't be with each other."

Although she couldn't see his face, Andrea could tell that he was incredulous. " _Dorogaya_ , _you_ were the one who told me that wasn't correct." He didn't necessarily sound mad; maybe just a little confused and exasperated, but his tone was gentle. She might have to thank him for that later, because even though he must have been just as confused and frightened as she was, he still made her feelings and breakdown his first priority. "What's got you so worried all of a sudden?"

Andrea shook her head, tears streaming faster now. He wasn't understanding; he didn't _get_ it. "You don't...? Bucky, my biological father is Hydra's old leader. He lead the organization that dehumanized you for years, the one that treated you like some _war toy._ Jesus, you thought that you were putting me in danger when it's been the other way around this entire time! They wouldn't even know where you _are_ right now if it wasn't for me! Do you get that? You were free, you got away from them, and I dragged you back because they've been watching me my entire life! You have to go and get away from me, okay? It's not you they're watching, it's _me_."

It was silent for quite awhile. At first Andrea was convinced that Bucky had somehow deftly left the room, doing as she'd told him and going and packing his things to leave, but then, after a little more time, she heard him murmur, "Look at me, Alexandrea."

There he went again, with her full name. Something about him addressing her by that tightened her stomach in a way that she couldn't be sure was good or bad. She'd grown used to being referred to as nothing but Sasha in Bucky's voice and couldn't for the life of her figure out why the situation was so important that he was using her full first name, but it certainly caught her attention.

When she looked, she was met with the most breathtaking smile he'd ever graced her with. As his hand gently came around to cup her cheek, she elected not to flinch away and instead leaned a little more into his touch. She wondered distantly in the back of her mind whether he was making it a point to use his left hand.

"I _choose_ you. Do you understand what that means?" She understood that it meant that he was causing himself a bunch of unnecessary grief with that decision. "I _choose_ you. And because I chose you, that means I also chose the consequences that come _with_ you. Did I have any idea who your father was? I'll be the first person to admit that I didn't." His eyes met hers, refusing to let her drop his gaze. "But did you know who I was?"

Andrea shook her head a little, confused as to what point he was trying to make. "You know I didn't," she murmured, a soft sigh leaving her lungs. It wasn't hard for her to see exactly what Bucky was doing, but she was grateful for it. Her breath was beginning to steady, she wasn't shaking nearly as badly as she had been five minutes ago, and although she could still feel a prominent ache in her back, one that often came when she cried very hard or was particularly anxious, she could also feel a certain sense of calming clarity in her chest. Dating Bucky had begun to help her realize that perhaps emotional manipulation, in some cases, was not necessarily a _bad_ thing.

"Okay," Bucky chuckled, attempting to get her into a lighter mood, "so why would I run away from you because I didn't know who you were when you didn't even move an inch when you found out who I was?"

"It was this..." God, would explaining this make her sound too creepy? "When I found out what happened to you, I don't know. Some sort of instinct or something kicked in, I guess. Figuring out what happened to you made me want to protect you."

Bucky leaned forward a little more, touching his forehead against hers. It was such an innocent thing, the embrace he was enveloping her with, and she found it interesting how they seemed to be perpetually oscillating between sweet and chaste to wild and maybe some sort of tame form of scandalous.

"Tell me something, _malyutka_. Do you doubt that I feel the same sense of protection for you?"

His words made her eyes pop open in disbelief. "You _literally_ broke a guy's leg for me before you even properly met me. I don't doubt your protective instincts for a second."

"Then please trust me when I say that as long as you allow it to happen, I will keep choosing you. Indefinitely. Forever. Alexander Pierce be damned. That man kept _everything_ away from me while he was alive. I'm not allowing him to take you, too."

Andrea couldn't help but laugh a little, pecking Bucky's lips and shifting so that she sat sideways in his lap with her head against his chest. Bucky always seemed to manage to bring out her more sarcastic moods. "Oh please, don't pretend that I'm not your petty little revenge plan, or whatever you wanna call it. You _like_ the fact that I'm his daughter, don't you? It's like, the biggest middle finger you could possibly pull on him."

Bucky smirked, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Well I'm not gonna _deny_ it. I hope he's in some type of ghost afterlife and knows _exactly_ what I think about specifically in regards to you. It's what he deserves."

A scarlet blush rose to her cheeks. "And, uh, how do you think of me, specifically?"

"Oh," he murmured, suddenly rolling them over so that her back was to the floor and he was hovering over her. The playfully devious expression on his face gave her a glimpse at a man who was rediscovering some type of childlike happiness. Well. Maybe it was closer to a teenage _boy's_ rather than a child's. "I'm sure you can guess."


	17. Little Loves

Bucky knocked quickly on Sasha's bedroom door, then opened it and poked his head through. "We're gonna be late."

The startled cry of shock Sasha gave confused him until he saw her, standing near her closet door, cross her arms over her chest. _That_ confused him even more. He could see the straps on her shoulders; it wasn't as if she was _completely_ indecent. "You and I are gonna have to have a conversation about knocking," she managed to get out, her cheeks deepening with a reddish tint. "Either close the door or turn around."

"It's nothing I haven't seen before," Bucky countered, taking what few seconds he had left to appreciate her flustered image. Her hair was down and loose around her shoulders, something he hardly ever got to see because she always kept it up for dancing or work, sometimes both at a time. Although she continued to keep her arms crossed, obscuring his view of the bra she wore and most of her upper torso, he could still see the hourglass figure of her waist and the prominence of her hip bones, which the pants she'd meant to change out of failed to cover. This was a sight he could get used to seeing more often.

Sasha's expression quickly became exasperated. "You're not helping your case."

He shouldn't be taunting her; the look on her face was completely serious. Still, the amusement was all too much for him to pass up. Pointedly eyeing her up and down so that she would notice it the second time around, he mumbled, "Neither are you."

"Would you just _turn around?_ Oh my _god_."

Finally doing as she asked and laughing as he went, Bucky turned his back to her and faced the wall, attempting not to laugh as hard as he wanted to. "No, but in all seriousness, we _are_ going to be late."

Sasha, who he could hear continuing to undress herself so that she could get into her performance outfit, told him, "No, we're not."

"You said you wanted to be there two hours early so that you could practice with your partner."

"What's your point?"

"Two hours early was literally forty five minutes ago."

He could hear a thud from somewhere behind him, and he was grateful Sasha had made him turn around; the amused smirk on his face would've earned him a smack, or _something_ along those lines. " _What_?"

Bucky knew he should have pressed her into beginning to get ready earlier than she had originally planned. The one thing he knew about Sasha, if he knew anything, was that she was not the most punctual person. "Your call time is six, but you said you wanted to be there by four, which was forty five minutes ago. I tried to tell you to get in the shower earlier, didn't I?"

"Now is _so_ not the time for you to get all high and mighty."

There was a significant increase in the amount of rustling coming from the other side of her room - or was it their room? Officially, Bucky's room was the spare with all of Calix's clothes in the closet and the few he had thrown under the bed. When it came to which room he resided in, however, it was Sasha's. He slept there every night, he lounged there when she was away and he didn't feel like going out to town, and he got the feeling that they'd begin to spend a little more time in the room once they reached a more... _intimate_ level.

Bucky shook his head, attempting to clear his mind and prevent himself from getting too into that mindset. He couldn't think those thoughts at the moment. In the few days following their discovery that Sasha was the daughter of Alexander Pierce, he'd taken it upon himself to be a bit more affectionate than usual, just to show her that her doubts held no substance and that he refused to run away from her. His intentions had been purely innocent at first, but... the more he let himself indulge, the more indulgence he wanted. And Sasha wanted it too; he could tell they were beginning to reach that point.

But there wasn't any time for that. His darling Sashen'ka was running late.

There was the patter of footsteps across the room and in another second, a tap was placed on his back. He turned to find Sasha, clad in her black dress and smiling up at him. Turning so that her back was to him and gathering her hair into her hands, she asked, "Zip me up, please?"

All right, there was no problem there. If Bucky just inhaled deeply and exerted the control he had over himself, he wouldn't have an issue. It shouldn't be difficult; for Christ's sake, it was just a damn _zipper_.

Later, he would find out that it was so much more than that.

Taking a deep breath and doing as Sasha had asked him to, he grasped the zipper and gently pulled it up so that she could let her hair back down and continue her process. "Perfect, thank you," she told him, "now I just have to figure out how to do my hair by myself. Usually Nova helps me with it, but since we're as late as we are, I'm gonna have to improvise."

"What do you want done to it?" Bucky questioned, trying not to sound too strained. Sasha was always complaining of how he affected her too intensely with kisses and touches, but _she_ was the one who managed to drive him insane with the mere idea of what they could do.

"I just need something simple, really. I think a French braid would be fine, but," she ran a hand through her hair and sighed, "I can't do them very well on myself."

Well, if that was all she needed. "I could do it for you, if you'd like."

Sasha gave him a disbelieving look, dropping her hands completely and tilting her head at him. "Okay, I can't tell whether or not you're joking right now."

Rolling his eyes, Bucky grabbed Sasha's arm and pulled her around, using their height difference to his advantage as he began the braid at the top of her head. "You're being very judgmental, doll. An assassin can't know how to braid hair?"

"I totally didn't say that," she responded in the playfully sarcastic tone she was so fond of using with him. She fell silent for a moment, letting him weave her soft hair slowly into a braid and he managed to get about halfway down her head when she started up again. "So, just out of curiosity. Was there some type of special mission that you needed to know how to braid hair for, or?"

He couldn't help the little smile on his face trying to imagine what type of mission he could possibly need that skill for. It was good to see that Sasha still hadn't outgrown her outrageous thought processes. "Did you know I was the eldest of four siblings?"

Forgetting herself for a moment, Sasha shook her head and Bucky had to tighten his grasp on the strands of her hair just slightly so that they didn't slip through his fingers. "I didn't, actually. All of my teachers were convinced that you were an only child."

That was strange; as far as Bucky knew, the historians had gotten every detail of his life down perfectly. His visit to the Smithsonian museum had been what had enlightened him the most, and even they'd had confirmation that he'd had younger siblings. They hadn't dwelled on that for too long, or even bothered to specify which gender they were, but the information had been there. Why was it that Sasha's high school teachers had missed that fact?

Deciding not to dwell, Bucky continued with where he was going. "I had three younger siblings; sisters, to be more specific. The first was born when I was only nine, the next when I was eleven, and the youngest when I was fourteen. I was happy to have them, of course. All the guys used to talk about how having little sisters was the best thing ever because you got to protect them from the world and love them so much and they'd love you back, which was all I needed, really, but Mom and Dad, well... They weren't planning on having such a big family, you know? Times were hard. So many children in a working class family was expensive, and it brought a lot of hardship down on us."

Sasha remained quiet as Bucky continued to braid and tell his story. He could see that she was confused as to why he was telling her what exactly he was, but she didn't interrupt to ask him to get to his point. For that, he was grateful; talking things out the way he was doing helped him remember small things that went along with the bigger picture. In a way, he was telling himself just as much as he was telling her.

"That year, 1931, I think it was, my dad died. I didn't get how it happened at first, mostly because I thought that since there wasn't a war going on at the time, being in the military wasn't as dangerous as it used to be during the First World War, but that was wishful thinking on the part of a child. I forget exactly what it was, probably an enemy's grenade or a land mine, but one month or so after their last baby was born he had been deployed, and I never saw him after that.

"Mom held on for another two years or so. The girls and I could tell that losing Dad changed her for the worse, but it really wasn't all that hard to see. She was a lot more quiet after we found out, and we didn't see much of her because she was working double time to make enough money for us to get by. We were lucky if she made it back home before we went to bed, her shifts ran so late." He remembered a lot of the waiting up for his mother that he used to do, and the chastisement that she greeted him with every time she found him in the living room asleep instead of in his bed, but he'd felt some sort of responsibility to make sure she got home safe every night. If only he'd known the sort of painful irony that his sense of duty would play into.

He'd finished the braid and tied it off with a hair band that Sasha had handed him, but the look on her face after she turned back towards him was everything but a verbal request for him to continue on with his story.

"Steve invited me over one night," Bucky explained, "and it was Mom's day off, so I asked if she'd be okay alone with the girls if I went and spent some time with Steve. You know what she told me?"

"What'd she tell you?" Sasha asked, a little crease forming between her eyebrows. She must have been able to sense where the story was going.

"She said, 'Don't you worry about me, James. I get the feeling I'm gonna be a lot happier tonight than I've been in a long time. You go and have fun with Steve.' I shouldn't have listened to her. I should've stayed." It wasn't as if he was blaming himself for what had happened, so much as wishing he'd been smart enough to realize what his mother had been talking about. "What I didn't realize at the time was that she meant she was going to be happier because she'd be dead by the time I got back. At least she had the sense to lock the bathroom door, I guess. I can't imagine what it would have been like if one of my sisters had found her the way I did when I came home."

"How'd... How'd you know something was wrong?" Sasha asked quietly, an extremely compassionate expression on her face. Bucky could see the deep regret on her features, the wish that she'd been there to comfort him and take at least some of his pain from him, but all of that was only sympathy. There wasn't anything she could change about his past, try as she might and as much as he appreciated that she wished she could.

Bucky stood and began locating a coat for Sasha, conscious of the fact that they needed to get a move on. Once he found that and her shoes, he urged her to put them on while he continued talking. "My... One of them told me the bathroom door was locked. Had been for some time. They were too small to know any better, but I couldn't break that door down fast enough. When I got in there, after hitting the door for God knows how long, she was in the bathtub, drowned in water." He paused for a moment, looking Sasha up and down one last time before heading for the door of the apartment. "Do you have everything you need?"

Sasha nodded and exited through the door once he opened it for her. "I didn't know your mom died that way," she admitted, a sympathetic expression on her face. "I'm sorry."

Bucky shrugged, unsure of how to take it. "It was a long time ago, really, it's all done now. Anyways, they were going to put the girls through foster care, but since I was sixteen I made an argument that I could take care of them just fine if I got a job, and so the court said if I could get employed within a few weeks, they'd let me keep my sisters. So, I dropped out of high school and went to work, and that got me enough money for bills and food and necessities, at least. I didn't have much to take care of them with, but they knew I was trying and I made sure they knew I loved them.

"That was during Summer, though, so once the two that were old enough needed to go back to school, they needed to look presentable enough for it, and I, being a teenage boy, had no idea how to do their hair. I got away with simple ponytails at first, but once Mrs. Rogers saw them with me while I was walking them home from school, she wasn't having any of it." A smile took hold of him at the thought of the memory. Sarah Rogers had been as much of a mother to him as anyone could have been. "She invited us inside, sat me down, and gave me a long lesson about braiding hair. You can imagine what it must've been like for Steve when he finally made it home from school."

"So, that's why you know how to braid hair," Sasha mused, subconsciously reaching a hand up to pat at her head.

Bucky swatted her hand away, giving her a disbelieving look. "Are you serious? I _just_ did that, don't touch it." Giving her a pointed look, just to reinforce that she shouldn't be putting her hands anywhere near her hair, he continued on. "My sisters were much happier with me once I learned. I was glad to do it, anyway; it made me feel more responsible for them. I'd like to think they knew I was doing my best for them."

"I'm sure they appreciated it a lot, once they understood," Sasha commented. Bucky could neither confirm nor deny this; he hadn't stuck around long enough to find out. "What were their names?"

At first, Bucky still couldn't remember. As they exited the apartment and began their walk for transportation to Manhattan, he could seem to remember almost everything about his life except for many particulars about his sisters. Their ages were easy, their appearances were practically seared into his mind thanks to memories and dreams, but their names seemed to be forever escaping him.

But then his mind seemed to pause everything while the information, slowly and reluctantly, came back to him and he was successful in his location of what he wished to know. It was funny, really, how it felt that he should have known what he'd sought out; he should have, and the fact that he didn't felt almost insulting to the memories of the sweet girls he was picturing in his mind's eye. He decided to make a mental note to remember them as much as he could after this night.

Then, to answer Sasha's question as they headed for the underground station to board their train, Bucky began with, "The oldest one was Rosemarie." _Rosemarie_. How had he managed to forget Rosemarie? "I think she was around fourteen when I was drafted, but she acted so much older. Rosie never complained about our situation, honestly. She probably grew up way faster than she was supposed to because of what happened."

Sasha frowned a little. "It really sucks when that happens."

In the back of his mind, Bucky distantly remembered Sasha saying for the first time how her father had died when she was just fifteen years old. Perhaps what had happened to Rosemarie wasn't as serious as the death of a father at an age where she could remember with perfect clarity how and why it happened, but he imagined on account of Sasha's tone, that she was viewing him being drafted as a death sentence. Which, historically, it _had_ been, and it was because of that that Rosemarie had essentially had to perform the same acts of selflessness that Bucky had at an even younger age. Sasha was right; it really did suck when things like that happened to people who were barely more than kids.

Bucky shrugged, leaning against one of the walls of the station where they waited. "It does, but Rosie was strong. She was like a little mom, always making sure nobody did anything too dangerous and looking after the younger two."

"Sounds like you and Steve," Sasha commented. "What about the next oldest?"

"Jasmine? She was twelve the last time I saw her. Jazzy was such a cute little thing, I mean, all three of them were. Jazzy, though, she didn't look much like the rest of us. I'm not quite sure how it happened, but she was the only one of us with blonde hair and from what I remember, there were always boys asking if she could come out to play. She was pretty quiet, not very outgoing, but she was a sweet girl. She had quite a few friends."

And as he came to the last of his sisters, the youngest one, Bucky couldn't escape the vividness of the mental images he held of her. She was the easiest to picture, her small, pale hand clasped in his, her arms around his neck as he carried her around on his back, laughing, smiling, and then suddenly screaming, a memory from the dreams he'd recently been having about her. As to what that dream meant, Bucky was still in the dark, but he shook the mental picture away so as not to give Sasha any idea that something was wrong. There _wasn't_.

"My youngest sister was Sophia. I had to explain to her what a military draft was at nine years old and why I couldn't just stay with her and the other two instead. She was heartbroken about it. Sophie was actually the one I was closest with; people always used to mistake her for my kid, and I wasn't ever really sure whether or not to take that positively. We looked the most alike, I guess you could say, and she was such an energy ball of a little girl. She never let anyone be in a bad mood, she'd sit with you and talk until you either laughed or told her what was bothering you."

A gentle hand found its way onto Bucky's arm, and as he looked at Sasha in that moment, so compassionate and empathetic, he realized what it was like to stare straight at pure love. "You must miss them a lot."

He nodded. "I do, but... I mean, I've kind of come to accept the fact that just about everyone I knew is pretty much dead. It doesn't bug me very much anymore. Besides," he murmured, smiling and leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead, "I'd say I'm doing fairly well with my new relationships."

"Bucky," she mumbled, a contrary look in her eyes, "I'm pretty much the only person you know."

"Oh, please, that's so not true. I know Nova, don't I?"

"Technically only by extension."

"Since when do you care about technicalities?"

Sasha sighed, giving a little shrug and a halfhearted wave of her hand. "I just... I just want you to have a life outside of me, you know? God, that sounds super vain. It's just, I feel like you spend literally all your time with me and I don't think that's the healthiest thing for you."

Bucky tilted his head, confused as to why she was choosing that specific moment to bring up her worries. "Where's this coming from?"

For a moment or two she resembled a doe caught in headlights. Had she not been counting on his curiosity? She sucked in a breath, then answered, "Steve called me. He misses you. Like, a lot, and I just feel really bad because I'm distracting you from working on getting up the courage to go see him."

"You are _not_ a distraction," Bucky suddenly let out, a bit more forcefully than he'd intended. "You're more to me than just something to take my mind off of life, okay? I want you to understand that."

"I do," Sasha mumbled, biting her lips and tugging at one of the straps of her outfit, "I just... I don't know."

He understood what she meant, he supposed. He really wasn't going out of his way to meet anybody new; even just meeting her had been an accident, albeit a happy one. New friends he didn't feel he was much in need of, though. However, Steve wasn't someone new, and how many times had Bucky told himself he'd go and find him soon, only to change his mind and walk away from that idea?

Sasha was right. Perhaps reconnecting with Steve would give him some sort of greater purpose, something to keep him occupied in the time that his girlfriend was away at her classes. That was why he rolled his eyes, yet offered her a fond look as he said, "Fine. Give me a week or two, and I'll... figure out some way to reach out. For now, let's just worry about your dance recital, okay?"

He was rewarded with a smile and an excited sort of hug. "Deal!"

As he placed his arms around her to return the embrace, a feeling similar to the one he'd felt when walking into her bedroom earlier had taken hold of him, as it seemed to be doing so often lately, and resulted in the raising of his body temperature by a few degrees. He was either going to have to learn to ignore it or embrace it, and whichever one he chose, he'd have to figure out how to implement fairly quickly; with how intensely he was reacting to something as innocent as a hug, it seemed his mind and body were demanding a decision from him as fast as he could make one.

\--

Nova choked on her water, causing a wide ranged spray of droplets to land on any surface in the vicinity. As she caught her breath and her coughs became less severe, she gave Andrea a look that simultaneously conveyed disbelief and amazement. "I. You're not screwing with me, are you? This is a serious question?

Although she was sure her cheeks were flaming red, Andrea managed a nod and responded with, "As serious as I can be. I mean, I've never... We haven't, and I've never done it before, but I get the feeling that he and I are... getting there. Like, soon."

Straightening her back and waiting for the sound of repetitive pops to fill the silence, Nova then let her arms drop and glanced at herself in the bathroom mirror as she began to speak again. "It's... Well, I mean, it could be uncomfortable, if both of you haven't ever, _you know_ , but I take it that Bucky and you aren't exactly in the same boat? What am I saying, of course not. Look at him, he's so-"

"Yeah, I'd really appreciate it if we could maybe not reminisce my boyfriend's sex life, for both his sake and mine." It wasn't as though she hadn't thought of those things herself; actually, she'd spent entirely too much time worrying that Bucky wasn't going to remain as interested with her once he found out how inexperienced she was, but she'd had to push those thoughts out of her mind. "Just answer the question, please?"

Nova shrugged, turning around and hopping up onto the counter to sit rather than stand. "It's different for everybody, depending on the people and what they're like. Like, me? I didn't wait as long as you have, and so the first time wasn't anything special. Actually, it was the most awkward thing in the world."

That wasn't exactly the most reassuring thing to hear, but Andrea supposed she could appreciate the honesty.

The look on her face must have said something about what she was feeling inside, because Nova quickly began backtracking. "That isn't to say that it's going to be the same for you, okay? Don't get me wrong. You and Bucky... you've got something special between you two. If the both of you really care about each other, you should be fine. Besides," the blonde laughed, giving Andrea a look that was positively devious, "you've just about hit the jackpot when it comes to this. Remember when I said he looked dominant? You couldn't be more taken care of."

" _Stop_ ," Andrea gasped, hardly able to breathe through her giggles. "Now is _so_ not the time."

Rolling her eyes and hopping off the counter, Nova motioned towards the door with her chin. "Shall we?"

Andrea nodded, the distracting conversation coming to an end and allowing her nerves to rush back to her. She'd be performing in a few moments, and while she was excited to do it, she was also terrified as hell. Practically anyone could be watching her because anyone who even had the smallest thing to do with dance had been invited to attend. There would be many talent scouts in the audience, and if she could impress at least one of them, she could potentially win herself job security two years before she even graduated.

Oddly enough, that wasn't even what she was most worried about. No, the person she found that she was truly trying to impress was Bucky freaking Barnes, who would be waiting in the audience and watching her and her partner perform their routine. He'd seen her dance before, so she didn't get why she was suddenly all nervous for him to watch her perform her showcase routine, but that didn't change the fact that she was still experiencing the emotions she was.

As they walked out of the bathroom and made their way to the room where they'd be waiting until it was their own times, another thought crossed Andrea's mind, and she found that she couldn't help but voice her question. "Do you think he and I work?"

"What do you mean?" Nova asked, scrunching her brows together in confusion.

Andrea shrugged, weaving a loose strand of hair back into the braid Bucky had crafted for her. Her attempts to refrain from touching her hair weren't exactly the most effective, as running her hands through it was a habit that she apparently needed to break, but she'd made an extra special effort knowing that the braid at least needed to make it through her performance. "Just, I mean, Bucky and I. Do you think we're a good match?"

Nova's expression was suddenly enlightened. "If you think he's gonna start second guessing your relationship once you sleep with him, that's not true. He loves you, okay? I know he does, and I know you love him back, otherwise you wouldn't have bothered with each other for so long. You two are perfect for each other, you hear me? He makes you act more mature and you make him seem less like he wants to murder everybody in the room. I'd say that's a good combination."

Playfully hitting her friend on the arm and rolling her eyes, Andrea leaned her head against Nova's shoulder and let herself relax a moment. "How come you always know exactly what to say to get me to calm the hell down?"

Patting Andrea's head in the play-sympathetic way that friends often do, Nova responded with, "Oh, I was trained in emotional manipulation. My job is actually to manipulate you to make you feel better about yourself, that's all."

"Shut up," Andrea laughed, closing her eyes and letting herself rest a few moments longer. She found it was important to be internally peaceful before a performance began; it seemed to psychologically better her in some way or another, which she was sure her dance partner would appreciate. After the performance, she'd be able to allow herself to be as jittery and giddy and worried as she pleased, but that wasn't going to be the case beforehand.

It was a waiting game, really, but it felt like one where she actually didn't mind doing the waiting.

\--

"So, all I'm getting out of this is that even though he's been dead for a few months," Clint muttered, reading on the computer screen over Natasha's shoulder, "Alexander Pierce was and even through death _continues to be_ one of the most major assholes of all time."

"Sounds about right," Steve confirmed from his place across the room, reading the same files that Clint, Natasha, and the rest of the people present were on their own laptops. "This is the guy who tried to have a bunch of people tag team me in an elevator. I'm not even sure who thought it would be inconspicuous enough to work."

Sam, sitting across from Steve on the same couch, gave his friend an incredulous look. "You never told me about...?"

"Oh, no, that was the same day I jumped _out_ of the glass elevator, too. Remember?"

"Right. Got it."

Clint didn't even remember hearing about that. Cap swan diving out of a glass elevator and bellyflopping on the pavement? God, he _always_ missed the fun stuff while he was out on his vacation days.

Tony cleared his throat, demanding everyone's attention from his sideways perch on the arm of the love seat Clint and Natasha were occupying. Immediately after Clint had brought him and Bruce news of Alexandrea Jamison's family tree, Tony had been insistent that everyone be alerted to the information and that the team should decide the best course of action from there. Which, Clint got it, the girl was in potential danger, especially if her father's company wanted their soldier back and she was unaware of what she had to do with the situation; however, he did _not_ understand why Tony was so intent on this girl's safety specifically. It made sense for Sam to care, because Sam turned out to be Alexandrea's long lost half-brother. Steve had a reason, too, since he'd been talking to the girl for quite some time while keeping tabs on his best friend. Even Natasha had a purpose to care deeply about what happened to her, since Natasha had actually visited the hospital and was sympathizing with Alexandrea and Bucky's situation. But to Tony? She should have only been another civilian. Why did he care so much?

"What's up, Tony?" Bruce asked, sitting in the arm chair in the corner. It was fun to look at that sight, because that was the chair that Thor usually sat in, which meant it was ridiculously large to accommodate for his height. Thor, however, would not be present at Stark tower for another week or so, which meant that Clint was free to openly giggle at the sight of how tiny Bruce looked in Thor's chair.

"I think we can all agree that this girl's dad was freaking crazy, but we need to figure out what we're gonna do about her. She needs to be protected." Tony crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Steve. "I take it contacting the boyfriend isn't an option?"

Steve gave a one shouldered shrug. "Nothing's stopping anyone from contacting Bucky, but I can't guarantee that he's going to _allow_ himself to be contacted."

Bruce raised his hand. "Didn't he call you, though?"

Natasha was quick to reply with, "He was careful about it. Barnes used Alexandrea's phone, he knew we'd try to track him down if he used anything else, and we also have no idea whether or not these two are aware of the situation. Regardless, I don't think it matters; I saw the way he was hurting after the knife attack. Whether or not they know, he's not going to let anyone that he thinks is a threat within a five mile radius of her. It might be best for us to just leave it alone; she's already plenty safe if Barnes is being careful."

"Yeah, and if he's not being careful?" Sam countered, a challenging look in his eyes. That was dangerous, at best. Clint knew in his mind that the look was for the entire team, not just Natasha, but there was a chance that she could take it that way, and _nobody_ challenged Natasha. "Not that he'd put her in harm's way purposefully, but if he's involved with her, he's gonna get careless. It's happened before, it'll happen again, and then we're not gonna have anyone to talk about protecting because she'll be dead."

Amazingly enough, Natasha almost looked positively offended in the name of James Barnes. "Believe me, I can say from experience that what's happened, happening, or will happen to that girl is anything but his fault. I've been in his situation; he's doing his damnedest."

"And I'm not? The girl's my _sister_ , Natasha, and I'm trying to help her now. You won't let me."

The two stared intently back at each other, having some sort of silent debate while everyone else in the room shifted uncomfortably. It was a bit difficult for Clint to discern, but looking at Natasha's features, watching the contortion of the shape of her mouth and the slight narrowness of her eyes, she was hesitating on her next piece of argument. And if she was hesitating, it must have been a point that could potentially cause emotional repercussions if pressed.

Eventually, she simply rolled her eyes and let it out, knowing that if she didn't, no one else would. "You only just figured that out, Sam. Alexandrea is your sister, yes, but you don't know her. Barnes loves that girl, Sam. Do you?"

Before Sam had very much time at all to react, Tony stepped in. "Look, regardless of whether he loves her or not, that does _not_ mean that we shouldn't step in. When someone pulls a knife on you, you don't wait around for them to stab you before you correct the problem."

Steve shot Tony a glance. "No one's got a knife pulled on him. He can keep her safe, I'm telling you. Bucky's not the kind of person who makes the same mistake twice."

Bruce looked a little uncomfortable when he asked, "Is that something we're willing to risk?"

Clint remained silent. He could get involved with this. Hell, maybe he should. From what he understood of everything that had happened, the first visit to the hospital had not necessarily been Barnes's fault, and Clint had no doubts that the guy who was responsible for leveling D.C. was capable of protecting a single college student, but were they really willing to take the chance that he could hold his own? Sam had been right when he'd said that Barnes may well get distracted. When it came to love, it was easy to ignore problems and pretend like everything was still okay.

Tony threw his hands up in the air and gave a loud noise of indignation. "You know what? You wanna let them work it out themselves? Fine. Whatever. But I swear, we are _checking_ on them once every week or two, you hear me? This is sincerely the one thing I hope to god I'm wrong about." With that, Tony left, and only after a moment's hesitation, Sam stood and headed in the same direction, posture defiant yet defeated.

Unsure of what else to do, Clint sighed and buried his head in Natasha's shoulder. Arguments like the one that had just occurred reminded him of just how dysfunctional his team could really be.


	18. What You Mean to Me

"You did very well," Bucky murmured in Andrea's ear before pressing a kiss to her cheek as she unlocked the door to her apartment. She could feel his hands on her waist, one warm while the other was cold. The feelings of both were only slightly overwhelming when put together and she couldn't help the shiver that ran up along her spine.

Once the door was unlocked and opened, Andrea turned around and gave a small chuckle. "Are you sure you're not just saying that to make me feel better? Max almost dropped me on stage." Thank God it hadn't actually happened, because that would have been a major deduction off of any future prospects for the both of them. No, all that had resulted was a minuscule twitch that she was hoping no one could see.

Bucky smiled at her. "I'm sure no one besides me noticed." A sort of sheepish air took hold of him, which was definitely a little more than unusual. "And, um, Max, you know... I figured he could benefit from a reminder that he should keep his hands in the correct places while you were dancing."

It took her a second to get what Bucky was saying, because it didn't quite make sense to Andrea that Max would need that reminder. Max, her partner from the boys' section of her dance program, had been dancing since he was eight years old, and had been practicing his routine with her for quite some time. Max may have been the person _furthest_ from needing reminding of how to position his hands while dancing. So what did Bucky mean?

The understanding dawned on her slowly, and she wasn't sure whether or not she should be flattered or ticked off. "Did you... James Barnes, did you _threaten_ my dance partner?"

It was amazing how absolutely defensive Bucky managed to look. "Of course not, Sasha, I have more respect for you than that. But I _did_ mention the fact that I was your boyfriend when I overheard him and his friend talking about you. I have to say, I don't think he was expecting you to be interested in someone quite..."

"Like an assassin?" Andrea finished, rolling her eyes and walking into the apartment. She wasn't angry, not really; actually, it was kind of adorable, picturing Bucky getting kind of jealous over her, but the way it had gone down could probably have been handled a little better. "You are ridiculous, Bucky Barnes."

Bucky followed after her and closed the door behind him, the tone of his voice when he responded teasingly incredulous. "Says the same girl who used to get possessive over me when other girls eyed me in public, and _before_ we were dating, might I add."

Oh god, she _had_ done that, hadn't she? Would it make her a hypocrite to deny that? Probably. And anyway, Bucky knew for a fact that it was something she had done, so her only option of winning this particular round of teasing was to counter him. This was like a game of chess, and she'd be damned if she lost this round. "I definitely did, and I'm willing to admit that, but there's a freaking difference between something harmless and something that could cost me job security, you prick."

He placed a hand to his chest in mock hurt as he made his way over to her and leaned down to her eye level once he'd reached his destination. "Calling names is a little childish, don't you think?"

"Is that a short joke?" Andrea countered, laughing as she stole a kiss from him. After a moment, she backed away and motioned down to her dress as she continued walking backwards. Bucky had been right about its visual effects, as she'd eventually come to realize that, yes, it looked nice on her, but it was not necessarily the most comfortable thing. "I should probably go and get out of this."

Bucky released a sound of slight annoyance at the kiss having been cut so short and waved his hand in a general gesture, standing back to his full height. "Fine, you do that. And don't worry, I promise I'll knock on the door if I need something from you so you don't have to worry about me 'invading your privacy' or whatever your deal was earlier."

Well, at least she knew she was going to have time to mentally prepare herself for what she was about to initiate. Once in her room, Andrea closed the door behind her and leaned against it, sliding down to the floor. Despite the conversation she'd had earlier with Nova, despite knowing in her mind that Bucky probably didn't care that she was inexperienced, and despite the fact that she knew this was exactly what she wanted, Andrea still found that she was nervous.

"Okay," she murmured to herself, dropping her head into her hands and taking a deep breath, "you can do this. All you have to do is... Jesus Christ, what even do I... _How_?"

That was all she could think in her mind for a few moments. How? How the hell did she even go about this? How did anyone start this? What was she supposed to do? She could start by going out there and kissing him and making it clear what she wanted, but was she going to have to outright say it or was he just going to be able to pick up on it?

Would he even be able to? Bucky had done this before, obviously. Which meant that if she started it, he should successfully be able to take initiative and keep it going. In theory, at least. 'Success' was definitely a term that couldn't very often be applied to her life.

Taking in another deep breath and standing, she whispered, "Alright, Andrea, you know what you want. Do something about it." She gave herself another moment to talk up her mind, then bit the bullet and opened her bedroom door, walking back out through the hallway and through the living room.

He was in the kitchen, drinking a glass of water when she found him, and Andrea wasn't sure whether it was because of what she was about to start or if he'd always looked like that, but he was probably the most beautiful person she'd ever seen. When he caught sight of her, he gave her a gentle smile. "Hey, I-"

Andrea didn't give him a chance to finish, standing as far as she could go up on her tiptoes and pulling him down to make up for what she couldn't before planting a kiss on his mouth and refusing to back away. He was all too happy to comply, it seemed, his hands immediately snaking down and skimming along her waist before settling on her hips and holding them there firmly. It was long and passionate, anything but sweet and timid and what they were usually getting up to, but it was admittedly thrilling and she almost preferred the change of pace.

"I thought you were going to get dressed," he stated, taking a moment to catch his breath in between kisses. Unwilling to back down from what she wanted, Andrea decided to imitate what Bucky usually did with her and shifted her mouth to the base of his throat while he spoke; if he insisted on continuing to stand, she wasn't going to be able to reach much else. "Did you change your mind?"

"Can't reach my zipper," Andrea sighed against his neck, inhaling deeply and letting her eyes fall shut. "I need your help."

"Well, you have definitely got an interesting way of asking for it," Bucky chuckled. His breaths were shortening, a tribute to the effect that their current activities were having on him.

At that point, she was surprised he hadn't taken over and started the more intense kissing he seemed fond of. Typically, when they were in the sort of situation they were in, Bucky backed her against the wall, laid her on the floor, or pulled her down to the couch, sometimes alternating between two or more of those actions in one session and refusing to stop until he could at least elicit some type of moan from her. But at the moment? He seemed perfectly content to let Andrea do whatever the hell she wanted, and although she wasn't quite sure how to get where she was trying to go, she liked that he was giving her the chance.

"You're gonna get sore if you keep leaning down so far," Andrea mumbled, feeling a small shiver run up her spine. Oh, _that_ was typical. She may have been the one to start it, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to respond the same way she always did when they got this close.

"That's an easy fix," Bucky countered, and without warning, lifted Andrea from the ground, causing her to respond by wrapping her legs around his waist so as not to fall. If there was anything they were managing to perfect between the two of them, it was that move specifically; making up for height differences would always be a pain. He leaned in for another kiss while her mouth was away from his neck and Andrea found that she was starting to slowly lose her resolve. "I take it this isn't just about a zipper?"

Andrea shrugged and kissed him again, attempting to deepen it even further than he had. For not having any experience with leading into anything ever, she'd say she was doing fairly well. "Why don't we go find out?"

She opened her eyes just in time to see the look of comprehension on Bucky's face, and once he got what she was attempting to imply, he gave a giddy sort of chuckle and began swiftly walking them towards her bedroom.

It seemed she'd been right to assume that Bucky would pick up where she needed him to, because from that moment forward he seemed to take over the control. That was fine; Andrea didn't know what the hell she was doing, and since he was the one with more experience, she didn't mind very much. It kept them from awkwardly trying to figure each other out for too long.

"It's stuck," Bucky muttered, sitting down on the bed and causing Andrea to remain in his lap.

"What is?" Andrea murmured, eyelids fluttering as she pulled her mouth a little further away from his so that he could speak better. She loved the kissing, she did, but she wasn't about to have him accidentally chomping on her lip because he hadn't wanted to completely pull away. That wasn't something that was going to further the romantic mood. If anything, it was the fastest way to guarantee another hospital trip for more stitches.

She felt his fingertips lightly caress the back of her neck. "Your zipper, doll," he explained, leaning his forehead against hers and fixing her with a blue eyed gaze. "I've been pulling at it for a few minutes now, it's stuck."

Was he _actually_ joking?

"Okay, you _literally_ have a bionic arm and could probably bench press three of me. Are you telling me you can't pull a little harder on a zipper?"

There was a certain light that had been ignited in Bucky's eyes just then, almost as if he'd just accepted a challenge. Not that she'd meant to challenge him, but if it got the job done? Worth it.

"Alright," he let out slowly, a mischievous undertone in his voice. "You want me to pull harder, I'll pull harder."

Okay. So maybe taunting him had been a mistake, but she'd done so with the most innocent intentions. Still, perhaps Andrea should have recognized that she was dealing with a long time assassin who, before he was even that, had been a military sniper. Honestly, he probably had something to prove by now.

She felt the shift of support as he switched his right hand, which had been at the back of her neck, out for his left hand, and, grasping the zipper, he pulled down.

 _Hard_.

The sound of ripping fabric and the feeling of his hand down at the bottom of her back were both testaments to exactly what had just happened. Snapping her eyes completely open and giving Bucky one of the sternest looks she could manage, she withdrew her hands from his hair and crossed her arms. Throughout this, Bucky seemed to be having issues trying not to laugh.

"James Buchanan _Barnes_ ," Andrea protested, voice as disapproving as she could make it. It was annoying that she even had to try for that at all, because really all she wanted to do at that moment was just laugh really hard and kiss him some more, but that was so not the point. "Did you just _rip_ my dress?"

"No," was his immediate response. Then, after another moment's hesitation, he amended his answer. "I mean, yeah, but you told me to pull harder on it. I was technically only doing what you asked me to."

"Don't get smart with me, Barnes," Andrea warned, shifting as if to get up from her position and stand. Not that she actually intended to do anything of that sort, but he didn't exactly know that.

The panicked expression Bucky's face took on was a victory all its own. "You didn't even like this dress," he countered, tilting his head to the side and giving her a contradictory look.

She shrugged and rolled her eyes, knowing that he was right and her annoyance would be short lived anyway. "But you did."

"Well, I can assure you," Bucky responded, fingers gently edging underneath the straps on her shoulders, "that I'll probably like it much better the way it is now." He managed to slip the straps off her shoulders and down her arms, ready to pull the tattered dress away completely before Andrea remembered something she should probably bring up before she let him.

"Bucky, wait." Andrea put her hands over his to stop them from completely removing what was left of the dress. This was one of the things that had been causing her the most worry. If they could just get passed this, she'd have no reason to be self conscious. "You should know... I have scars."

The look he gave her was confused. "I... can't tell whether you're trying to be poetic or not. Was that a metaphorical statement?"

Andrea sighed and rolled her eyes, taking her head and leaning it against his shoulder. "No, it was completely serious. After that attack, after all the stitches and the hospital visit, the cuts turned into scars. You remember? They wrote on me with knives. So, I have scars. Big ones. And, I just... I figured I should tell you so that you don't get freaked out."

Bucky was quiet a moment, looking deep into Andrea's eyes. It almost felt like he was deconstructing her mind with that look, opening her up and assessing everything that she was. "You're trying to tell me that you don't like them," he stated, blinking a few times. "Is that it?"

"Does anybody really like their scars?" Andrea countered, raising an eyebrow.

Bucky took a second to breathe deeply and leaned his head back, then seemed to make a snap decision. "Touché," he let out, beginning to shift her off of his lap and laying her on the bed. Once she was off him, he stood and began undoing the buttons of his blue shirt. Andrea wasn't quite sure what to make of it. "Okay then."

Watching him pop the buttons was enjoyable, and she couldn't deny that the whit t-shirt that clung to his torso underneath wasn't nice to look at, but that didn't mean Andrea was understanding what he was trying to do. "What are you..?"

"Making you a deal," Bucky answered, grabbing at the hem of his undershirt and beginning to pull it up and over his head. The action revealed his chest and stomach, leaving everything above his hips bare. This would be the first time she'd actually seen him shirtless before, and damn was it working for him. Tossing the white shirt to the floor and never once breaking eye contact, he said, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours," before walking back towards the bed and sitting down next to her where she laid.

Just like the first time she'd seen the metal arm at his left side, it took her an embarrassingly long amount of time to notice what he was trying to indicate to her because she'd been so distracted by his physique. ' _See something you like?_ ' he'd asked her that day, noting that his body had commandeered her attention primarily. The same thing was happening now, and it took her minutes to notice the multitude of clustered scars formed along where his prosthetic attached to his body and along the left side of his ribcage.

"These are the worst ones I have," he told her, taking hold of her hand and placing it atop the left side of his chest. "They're pretty old, but sometimes it still feels like I just lost the arm. Sometimes they feel brand new. Those are the worst days."

They were grouped together, large and puffy, lining the border of where his arm attached to his chest. She let her fingers slide along the edge of the metal, being gentle as she possibly could. "Did... My father, did he...?"

"No, doll face, it wasn't his fault. I know it's hard to believe, but your father wasn't responsible for everything that happened to me." Bucky shrugged and cupped her cheek with his metal hand. "I fell off a train and lost my arm. That's no one else's fault but mine." In his eyes, Andrea saw the look of someone who was only just becoming comfortable with all the marks on him. She didn't know what it was, but something about that made her want to arrive at the same outcome. "May I see yours?"

She could do that, couldn't she? Bucky had shown Andrea all of his marks and wasn't being hesitant about it. That wasn't to say that she didn't have the right to be hesitant, because she did; she was learning to be comfortable with herself and her body, finally coming to terms with everything. He wouldn't judge her for her scars. If anyone would be capable of seeing past them, it would be him.

And so, slowly removing her hand from Bucky's chest, Andrea pulled at the neckline of the dress and moved it downwards, feeling the fabric fall away from her body and land in her lap, leaving her torso covered only by the strapless black bra she wore.

Her scars were obviously newer than Bucky's, still a little pink around the edges and much whiter in color. The word that they formed, _Gidra_ , was easy to make out in the lighting of her room. Her scars were what caused her self consciousness, but that word and what it meant were what caused her to lose sleep at night.

Bucky looked down at her stomach, taking in the sight of the scars and the bra and her torso bit by bit. Andrea wasn't sure how long it was before he'd decided to speak, but it felt like more than a few minutes. "I know the way that you got them wasn't a good thing," he began, letting one of his hands skim over the bareness of her stomach, "and I know that you almost died that night, but one thing that you have to remember is that you are beautiful. Do you understand me? You might just be the most beautiful damned thing on this planet, and I mean it when I say that. Which means that, since your scars are part of you, they're beautiful too. Having scars doesn't make you ugly or undesirable, baby doll, it just makes _them_ beautiful. And everything I'm looking at right now, every inch of you that I can see at this exact moment, is the most gorgeous thing I've seen in a long time." He leaned down to kiss her, shifting them so that they were laying down instead of sitting. "I love you."

Maybe his words weren't going to make her scars go away. Maybe she was going to have them a long time, if not forever. But that didn't mean she couldn't eventually come to see them the way that Bucky did.

Writhing out of the rest of her dress - which really wasn't that hard, considering her boyfriend had managed to pull the zipper so hard it tore off its track and _ripped_ through the unitard - Andrea tossed the tattered thing to the floor. It wasn't exactly an easy thing to do at first, but with the reassurance Bucky had given her, she'd managed to find the courage in herself to take the next step. And as she went about this, she got to watch the disbelief and amazement on Bucky's face grow further. "I love you too," she told him, and with that began launching into another round of kissing and touching.

From there, the kisses began getting more intense, and Bucky's hands roaming more frequently were given more area to explore since this was the first time she'd allowed her clothing to be removed. It wasn't even that Bucky was always trying for that sort of thing, because honestly? He never did. It was as if he knew that if she wanted to take it farther, she would, and so he never tried to get her out of her clothes. However, now that she was in nothing but her bra and underwear? She had no qualms about leveling the playing field.

"I feel like I'm at a disadvantage," she murmured at a moment when she found her lips free, largely due to the fact that Bucky had taken to running his across her collarbones, over her stomach, and up along her sides. The feeling made her shiver slightly and every now and then his teeth would lightly scrape against her skin, but she wasn't about to put a stop to it. It was one of the more pleasurable things he made her feel.

"Mmm?" he hummed, moving his face back up to hers. There was a lightheartedness there, one that was so genuine and carefree that it made him look like an entirely different person. "Is that so?"

"That is so," Andrea responded with a small nod of her head. "You're wearing more clothes than I am."

Without even hesitating, Bucky let his hands leave her for a moment or two, used them to unbutton and pull off his pants, and let them go right back to what they were doing previously once he was simply clad in his boxer shorts. "Now we're even."

"Noted," she laughed, and they got right back down to it.

For a few more moments they repeated their motions, kissing, letting their hands run across the other's body, alternating between when Bucky wanted to hover over her while they kissed and when they rolled over so that she was straddling his hips and letting him nip at her neck. Which, it seemed, was something he was fond of doing, because he did it often. Andrea was beginning to think he was just counting how many times he could make her gasp or moan by occasionally biting gently on her skin, because Bucky was an asshole, but it always made her happy to feel the smile he had against her when he did it.

"Sashen'ka," Bucky let out during one of the times where she was on top of him, looking up at her with this look in his eyes like she was some sort of ethereal goddess. That was certainly something she could get used to. At first she didn't know what it meant to have a man like Bucky, someone who at one point had lost all hope for their own happiness and expected nothing from the world, hold her and look at her like she was the sun, but she was beginning to think she might at least be starting to understand it. "Are you sure you want this? With me?"

Andrea laughed and looked down at him, letting her thumb run across his cheek. "Don't you think we would have benefited more from the sexual boundaries talk like ten minutes ago?"

"Seeing as ten minutes ago you were very insistent that I help you with your zipper, I didn't have the chance, did I?" The expression on Bucky's face was positively devil-may-care, and with his hands sliding down her sides to grip at her hips, he managed to excite the butterflies in her stomach further.

God, she was starting to forget how to function properly. With the type of situation she was in, she supposed that wasn't uncommon, but it came on so quickly she wasn't sure how to react. Every time he repositioned his hands she had to breathe a little deeper to set herself right. Every time Bucky's mouth planted kisses and small nips along her neck or her shoulders or her stomach, she gasped and had to work extra hard to keep her breathing under control. And every time he kissed her, teeth catching her bottom lip or tongue trying to coax her into moaning into his mouth once or twice, she couldn't help but give in. This one man actually held so much power over her that it probably would've been frightening if it wasn't what she wanted.

As an answer to his question, she took his hands in her own and led his fingers to the clasps of her bra. She left them there for him to decide what to do, moving her own hands back down to his chest, but when Bucky refused to do anything further, she knew she was going to have to verbalize her wishes. "Listen to me, Bucky Barnes. This is one of the few times I've ever really been sure about anything I've wanted in my life. I love you. I want this with you. And if you happen to want this with me, then... I think you and I are going to be very happy together."

Apparently, that was all he needed to hear.

Bucky smiled softly at her, allowing his fingers to slowly work at her back, unhooking each clasp one by one. "I can stop whenever you want me to," he told her, having unhooked the last clasp and letting his hands fall to her waist.

Giving Bucky a gentle smile, removing the bra completely, and throwing it to the floor, Andrea leaned down to kiss him. After a moment, she mumbled against his mouth, "I don't want you to stop."

And then Bucky kissed her back, rolling them over suddenly so that she was against the mattress and he hovered over her. "Still. Whenever you tell me to, I will. Just say the word."

Honestly? She knew she wasn't going to have to. It was what she wanted; it was what they wanted. And if it made the two of them happy, then why shouldn't they?

\--

"Oh my god," Andrea heard Nova exclaim upon seeing her walk into class. The tone of her voice was either horrified or awed; Andrea couldn't figure out which one it was. "Did Bucky...?"

Andrea gave Nova a very confused look, trying to understand what was going on. It was the first comment she'd received from anyone, but definitely not the first look of surprise or incredulousness that she'd gotten that morning. She'd woken up early for school and had left Bucky sleeping, simply pulling some practice clothes and a jacket from her closet and throwing her hair up in a bun on her way out the door. On account of all of the looks she'd been given on her way over to Manhattan, perhaps she should have taken the time to glance at herself in the mirror.

"Did Bucky what?" Andrea asked Nova, her eyebrows furrowing. "You're like the twentieth person to give me that weird look today. Do I really look that bad?"

Nova's mind seemed to process her comment until the blonde blinked and slowly asked, "Have you... looked at yourself in the mirror this morning?"

Shaking her head, Andrea responded, "No, why? Did it really make that much of a difference? As far as college kids went, Andrea thought she could technically passed for dressed well enough.

"Because," Nova responded, already grabbing Andrea's wrist and pulling her friend towards the bathroom, "you are covered in hickeys."

 _Hickeys_? That wasn't right. Andrea couldn't remember ever having a hickey in her life; she'd never really allowed for that to come to pass. In the life of a dancer, practice clothes didn't really do the best job at covering up those types of marks and having to put her hair up for rehearsal pretty much always left her neck bare. The way she viewed it, her love life didn't exactly need to be on display for everyone to see, and things like hickeys discounted that viewpoint. Besides, Bucky hadn't even done anything to give her a hickey that would show very well, had he? Small bites here and there the night before, but nothing that took a particularly long time.

She was wrong, it seemed. As soon as Nova pulled her into the bathroom and flicked the bright lights on, placing her in front of the mirror, Andrea saw exactly what Nova and everyone else had seen for the past few hours. "Oh, _Jesus_ " Andrea gasped, lifting a finger to one of the spots on her neck. Even just touching it made her conscious of how sore she was.

The purplish-blue spots dotted along her throat, three or four in total there. Down along her shoulders were maybe three more, along with the two that were placed on her collarbone. Nova hadn't been exaggerating; she really was covered in hickeys. And those? They were only the visible ones. How many would she see if she looked down at her stomach or her hips?

"I'm kicking his ass," Andrea muttered, inspecting the bruises. "I don't even get how there are so many."

Nova tilted her head, and Andrea was reminded that she would have been embarrassed to have this conversation with anyone else aside from her best friend. "Were you not, like, aware of the fact that he was biting you? You had to have at least felt that."

Sure, she'd felt it. She'd _loved_ feeling it.

"I mean, I did, but it didn't really feel like anything hardcore enough to leave a fucking _hickey_."

The smirk on Nova's face made it seem as though she'd just won some sort of large Vegas gamble. "Doesn't ever feel as intense as it is when you're busy getting hot and heavy, kid."

Andrea couldn't even find the time to sass Nova back, she was so agitated. It wasn't even because of the fact that she had hickeys; Bucky had been excited and she hadn't stopped him, so it was technically just as much her fault as his. Still. She didn't need people wolf whistling at her for the next two hours and making perverse comments at her.

"I can't dance like this," she sighed, extending her neck and twisting around to view as much of the marks as she could. "You wouldn't happen to have concealer, or like, foundation on you or something?"

Nova shook her head. "I don't think our skin tones are gonna match up. Cheer up, kid," she said, suddenly displaying a teasing smile, "display those hickeys with pride. Some girls would kill for what they mean."

While that was true, it didn't make her feel any better. "Whatever. He's not gonna hear the end of this any time soon."


	19. Beautiful Nightmares

From the time he heard the apartment door open and the loud, stomped out footsteps making their way towards the kitchen, Bucky Barnes knew he was a man in trouble. Honest to god, he knew she was going to come home angry, and an angry woman was a dangerous woman, but dear god, the mere thought of what she was upset about was absolutely killing him. Sasha was going to stand in front of him and lecture him about what he'd done, and Bucky was going to have to try his hardest not to lose it. He'd only realized what was going to be left on Sasha's skin as a result of the amount of bites and things he'd given her sometime after they'd fallen asleep. Bucky had woken to get a glass of water and had happened to look at Sasha when he'd come back from the kitchen.

If ever there was a time where she looked as young as she really was, both physically and in spirit, it would be while she slept. Something about the way she appeared, without worries or nervousness or anxieties to mar her happiness and peaceful state of mind, something about how grief couldn't touch her in her dreams was as reassuring as he could possibly hope for. She was so serene while she slept, and Bucky was still trying to work out what he'd done to deserve someone so lovely.

It was then, looking at her, admiring her, and resisting the impulse to reach out and touch her lest he rouse her from her peaceful state that he noticed the dark purple marks beginning to form on her bare skin. They weren't very big, that he he'd at least taken enough care to ensure. Anything too big would have guaranteed him an indefinite amount of time where he wouldn't be allowed to touch Sasha, knowing her. It was better to keep himself in her good graces.

He thought about waking with her to bring her attention to the hickeys the next morning, but had ultimately decided against it. Seven in the morning was far too early for Bucky to get in trouble over a couple of hickeys, and anyways, she'd notice them herself. They really weren't that big a deal, were they?

"Ask me how my day was," Sasha demanded, placing herself on the opposite side of the counter island. Bucky was still assassin enough to recognize a defensive tactic when he saw one.

Refusing to immediately take the bate and instead leaning forwards and resting his elbows atop the island, Bucky tilted his head and gave Sasha a sarcastic look. "'Hey, Bucky, how was your day?' It was fine, Sasha, thank you so much for that lovely greeting. And yours?"

"Oh, well, let's see," she started, stepping towards where Bucky leaned. He imagined this was an attempt to look threatening or angry, but all he could see was an adorable insistence upon it. She wasn't mad, not really; she just wanted him to suffer at his own expense for a little while, which he supposed he could take. "People were staring at me all day long because of the bruises on my neck. And the ones on my shoulders. _And_ the ones on my fucking collar bones, not really sure how you managed those ones, but whatever. One of the girls in my class asked me if the hickeys were because I was especially excited about celebrating last night or if I was always into rough stuff, which didn't make sense to me because hickeys don't even hurt, really, otherwise I would've noticed what you were doing, but either way. It was still embarrassing. My teachers couldn't look me in the eyes because they were afraid of saying something that offended me, and long story short? People are creepy as fuck and I'm mad at you."

Yeah, no, he was already having to give everything he had to try not to laugh. He didn't want to, because he knew she was, to some extent, being completely serious. Sasha must've gotten many stares from friends and strangers alike, so perhaps he _should_ have taken the time to bring the hickeys to her attention. The fact that she'd also apparently had some hard times with her peers did make him slightly remorseful, but he was able to pick up on the playful edge to her mood, however small it was. He felt bad, but he knew exactly how to handle the situation.

"Aw, baby doll," Bucky murmured, a small little smirk taking place on his face. He needed her to at least take another step forward. If she did that, she would be within reach. "Don't be mad at me."

"Don't you 'baby doll' me, mister, you caused me a whole bunch of trouble today." Extending her neck to the side and lifting her hair, which she must have let down on her way home, she pointed to the spots on her throat, now deeper in color and more obvious. "Look at this. You see this? Never again. Ever."

Bucky leaned forward even more. He was getting somewhere now; if she just leaned the tiniest bit forward, he'd be able to pull her to him, and then he'd really be able to get the situation into a more positive stance. "I don't know, little one, I think they look nice. I mean, I didn't leave so many on purpose, but..."

He managed to take hold of her arm and used it to pull her closer to the counter, making sure to mind how much force he used to keep her hips, which were parallel to the counter top, from slamming into it. Without wasting any time, as he was sure she wasn't going to allow him very much, Bucky used his other hand to catch the back of her neck and placed a kiss on her mouth. It didn't get very far before she pulled back, but the action had already been set in motion.

"What part of 'I'm mad at you' makes you think it's cool to-" She was interrupted, again by Bucky's lips, and he wondered how many times he could get away with that before she started getting too pissed off to the point where she actually was mad at him. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Bucky shrugged, and looked Sasha in the eyes. She was confused, didn't understand how to respond to what had just happened. It wasn't often that she had reason to be cross with him, and so he figured that that meant that she was trying to figure out how to be mad at him without giving in so easily. Which, in his opinion, was important; if she was mad at him, she _should_ be mad at him, and realize that he would end up doing things from time to time that angered her. This situation, though? It was just play. She was acting, and what she was really asking him for was to make her not have to pretend to be mad anymore.

"You're mad at me?" he asked, leaning forward to place another kiss to her lips.

She took a moment to catch her breath once he moved away and still had a sort of determined light in her eyes. Sasha was beginning to sway, though; her 'anger' wouldn't last very much longer. "Yeah. I am."

He kissed her again, this time allowing for it to become deeper. She hadn't yet kissed him back, but it was only a matter of time. "Why are you mad at me?" Another kiss. "Explain it to me."

Sasha's breathing was increasing in its speed, and he could feel her heart beat through her neck. She was beginning to get excited, and he planned to use that to his advantage, if only a little bit. "Because you..." When he heard her trail off, he kissed her again. "You made me..." And again. "I just..." And again, more passionate than he'd assumed she would allow. "I... You know what? I don't even care, just fucking kiss me then."

Which he did. Many times. Gladly. And when standing became uncomfortable, as it usually did with how short she was, Bucky urged her backwards, pausing to lean her against a wall for a short time, then continuing on to her bedroom, where they repeated their actions from the previous night. Well, most of them; Bucky was extremely cautious in discontinuing any biting. He may have enjoyed doing it and Sasha may have enjoyed receiving it, but her reaction afterwards was less than desirable.

A little later, when they'd eventually stopped and decided to just lay with each other, Bucky was lazily running his fingers through Sasha's hair when she looked up and said to him, "I'm gonna need you to not assume that I'm just going to fall into bed with you every time you're trying to make up for something that you did to piss me off. When I'm angry with you, I deserve to be angry."

He leaned down and pressed his mouth against her forehead, a soft hum in the back of his throat as he did so. "I want you to be angry, every now and then. It's _healthy_ for you to be. And I don't count on sleeping with you every time you're upset to magically make all your problems go away, but every now and then..." He shrugged, unsure of how to say what he wanted to without coming off as a complete ass. "Every now and then I'll need you to remind me that I'm not supposed to try."

Sasha offered him a smile. A peace offering, he assumed. "That's fine." She paused a moment, shifting underneath the blanket so that instead of being further down on the bed with her head resting on Bucky's chest, her face was right next to his as she laid down on the pillow. "By any chance... have you thought any more on whether or not you're comfortable contacting Steve soon?"

 _Of_ course.

"You _actually_ wanna talk about Steve right now?" Bucky laughed, although he really wasn't sure whether he should consider the situation more humorous or uncomfortable. "We are literally naked and lying in bed together and you want to talk about whether or not I'm gonna call my friend to see if he wants to hang out?"

The look she gave him in return for that comment was either sheepish or nonplussed, and Bucky was frightened at the fact that he actually couldn't tell the difference. "Look, I worry about you, okay? I just wanna make sure I don't monopolize your life."

"Is it such a bad thing that you do?" Bucky countered, letting his right hand find its way to her face and using the pads of his fingers to trace along her cheek. She might have been talking something crazy at a really inconvenient moment, but she was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

He didn't like what the look on Sasha's face meant, and it was because of that look that he was beginning to wonder if something of negative importance had happened in her day. Her response didn't give him much consolation, either. "Well, if something bad were to happen to me... yeah. I'd say that would be totally awful for you. I know you, Bucky Barnes. You'd fly off the rails if you were left by yourself."

These comments were what concerned him most. "Why would anything bad happen to you?" When she wouldn't look him in the face, Bucky deemed it appropriate to begin worrying. "Sasha, did something happen while you were out today? Is someone trying to find you again?"

"No, no," she quickly insisted, sighing deeply and palming her face, "it's nothing like that, I promise. But... I've been thinking a lot."

"Darling, not to sound like I'm putting you down or anything like that, but when you tell me you've been thinking, it sort of sounds like something dangerous."

He felt it as her hand swatted his shoulder, and in spite of the concern he was feeling at her words, which had so suddenly turned negative, he chuckled at her reaction to the teasing. "I don't have to put up with your shit, Barnes."

"You don't," he confirmed, using his hand to coerce her into turning back towards him. Sasha's eyes, so brown and deeply full of emotion, almost stopped him from attempting to start the negative conversation back up. If Bucky just looked straight into her eyes without a second thought, if he didn't look away for long enough, maybe their warmth would become his reality. He could believe that, couldn't he? He could contain enough hope for that.

Still; just because he _could_ didn't exactly mean that he _did_.

Sasha sighed and rolled over so that her face was buried in the pillows. If he weren't so close to her, he wouldn't have been able to catch the words that the muffled noises strung together. "Look. Hydra contacting me... It has implications, wouldn't you say? And I've just been thinking, if they end up coming for me, I don't want you to go off on some revenge tangent where you make avenging me or whatever your only purpose for living. I know you say you love me; I love you too. But I'm not that important. Trust me."

Bucky wasn't sure if his heart should be breaking at how low the regards that Sasha held herself to were or if he should be smiling at how she was so much more than she would ever truly know. Her words were troubling, of course; he didn't like the way she was speaking of her life, essentially saying that she was disposable and that he should move on from her if anything ever went wrong. Already he knew it was something he more than likely would not be able to accomplish, but if that was what she needed to hear, he would say it. Not without arguing his point, though.

"Alexandrea, you are _so_ that important. Those people who want you, they're admitting that you're practically the heir to some sort of interior government monarchy. And me? I'm the assassin that they trained who went rogue and decided to start dating the pretty Hydra princess. It sounds really fucked up and you didn't do anything to deserve any of it, and I _know_ it's not the kind of importance that you wanted, but that will come with time. It's what you are right now. Believe _me_ when I say that you _are_ that important and that I would be _happy_ to die for you."

"See, the thing is," Sasha murmured, lifting her face from the pillow and leaning her forehead against his. That was another action that took place often between the two of them. "I really don't want you to be. It's unnecessary; I didn't ask you to be willing to die for me."

"Doll, I think you're missing the point. You don't just _ask_ someone to be willing to die for you, it's just something that I came to realize, is all. I would die to keep you safe, and I would die to take out those that would try to hurt you."

The expression he received from Sasha was positively motherly. Although the topic they were discussing was a rather serious one, Bucky found that he was still capable of becoming amused at her childlike persistence. "That right there is _exactly_ why I want you to call Steve. _Your_ borderline suicidal tendencies will hopefully cancel out _his_ borderline suicidal tendencies, which means that both of you will stop trying to die and maybe just hang out on weekends or something, I don't know. What do ninety seven year old men like to do these days?"

 _That_ was an extremely uncalled for comment, and it was one Bucky was absolutely unwilling to let her get away with. "Oh, well you of all people should know, wouldn't you say?" he murmured, letting his mouth fall to hers. "You're dating one. Sleeping with me, in fact."

Sasha reciprocated the kiss, then smiled against him. "So I take it Steve should expect a phone call within the next week? Is that what I should assume because of the fact that you're not arguing?"

This girl was going to kill him one day, backing him into corners the way she always managed to do. "God, yes, _fine_ , I will call Steve. Now may we talk about something other than my ex-best friend who, hopefully soon, will end up being my new best friend? We are in _bed_. We're not _doing_ anything, but it's an awkward deal."

Sasha's smile was almost devious, and it was only a few seconds later that Bucky realized he'd just been played. "Yeah," she answered, voice sweet and lilting, "we can stop talking about Steve."

\--

That night, Bucky had the dream again. He only realized which dream it was right before the horror began unfolding before his eyes.

He was back in a Hydra base, whichever one they kept him in when he was in cryo-freeze. It wasn't very well defined in his dream, because he'd only ever seen it when walking away from the freeze chamber or back into it, but he still understood where he was. The feeling that he got was all too familiar to ignore. The guards marching him towards the door at the end of the hallway meant that he was definitely going back into the chamber.

Or, it _felt_ like there were guards. It always did. Whenever he looked over to his sides, they seemed to disappear, but once his gaze was again trained forward, he could feel their hands clamped around his arms as they marched him on. Bucky could never understand what that symbolized when he tried to think back on it in his waking hours, but he was half sure it had something to do with the trauma he'd experienced several times over seven decades.

The dream never took very long to come to pass in hindsight, but walking down that hall with those guards always seemed to take hours. Everything else tended to happen quickly, but the next part was usually what caused him the most horror. It was the sort of thing he wanted to make sense of, but didn't want to dwell on if he didn't have to.

Upon entering the room containing the cryo chambers, the temperature dropped immensely. If there was something in the world that Bucky could no longer stand because of the entire ordeal he'd gone through, it was the god damned cold. It more than likely caused Sasha a bit of grief at night, as he was sure she got a little fed up with him stealing the blankets from her, but if she minded then she never voiced it. Along with the temperature drop, a deep rooted feeling of fear accompanied Bucky inside his stomach. He'd had these visions before, but he couldn't ever retain the exact images he viewed each time.

It was just so cold; it was cold, and he wasn't exactly sure why he was afraid, but he was. He didn't like it. If he could just identify that there wasn't anything to be afraid of, perhaps he could make it out of the nightmare and into something just a tad happier. This was how he managed to talk himself into observing the room further in depth; in fact, this was how he talked himself into it every time he had this dream.

At first, his eyes found his own chamber, which he knew he'd be forced into by the phantom guards in just a few more moments. It had been designed specifically for him, to accommodate the size of his body and to resist any thrashing against the door with his bionic arm. That image was something he could barely even stand. It represented something that restricted Bucky's life and was metaphorically synonymous with a ball and chain. He could only stare at it for so long before wanting to throw his fist against it, something he knew all too well would be horribly ineffective, so he tore his gaze away from it and looked elsewhere.

Across from his own were three more chambers, much smaller in size, that he couldn't remember the use of. Had he ever actually seen those three chambers in real life, or were they just some sort of hellish vision his subconscious dreamt up to torture him with? Until he got to view them a bit more clearly, he wouldn't be able to understand.

That was when he felt the guards let up on their firm hold of him and disappear altogether. Bucky was alone in the cryo-freeze room, standing across from three chambers he couldn't be sure actually existed. It only made sense that, being free of surveillance, he should take it upon himself to investigate, right? That was the only way to put his mind at ease.

Slowly inching forward, attempting to stay alert enough to guard his own back in case any Hydra agents suddenly decided to storm the room and force him into his chamber, Bucky reached forward with his right hand and gently touched his fingertips to the words etched into the first chamber. The marks, for a moment or two, seemed to swirl if he looked at them head on or tried to decipher them. His subconscious seemed to want him to do anything but manage to read what was on those capsules. If he looked over at the other two, the effect was the same. He couldn't be sure what the words were, or even what language they were scripted in, but once he got a look inside one of the capsules, permitted a clear view thanks to the small window set into the door, it didn't matter what language the words had been depicted in. It all made sense in that moment.

Her eyes were closed and her face looked peaceful enough, but Bucky had been in her position more than enough times to know what she would really be feeling. Her hair was longer than he remembered it being, reaching far past her shoulders and out of his view, still dark as a raven's feather, and her skin was whiter than he'd have liked it to be. Overall, Rosemarie's physical appearance looked to have aged by a few years, and that unsettled Bucky worse than it did just to see her in the cryo chamber. If she looked older than she had been, but not by much, then she was in the same boat as he had been in. They were keeping her alive, refusing to allow her to age properly.

They were storing her for when she became useful.

Naturally, his first reaction was to try and get her the hell out. Rosemarie, his baby sister whom he'd left at the age of fourteen to care for the younger two, was being held in a chamber he himself had so often been subjected to and it was probably his fault. If he could just get her out of there, if he could just wake her up and maybe hold her a minute or two so that he could be sure she was real, he could stop freaking out and start trying to figure out how to correct the mistakes he'd allowed to happen by leaving her that year he'd been drafted. These thoughts, racing through his mind, were what made it seem as though the most logical option was to bang against the chamber's lid with his fists until it gave out and Bucky could retrieve his baby sister.

Bucky felt the hand on his arm only a second or two after he'd begun attempting to bash in the chamber door and hadn't bothered to hold back from violently flinging it off of him. If the guards had suddenly decided to reappear to try and stop him from letting Rosemarie out of the captivity she was so cruelly being held in, they were in for a completely different outcome. No one was going to prevent him from saving her, and if the other two were present in the other capsules, as he believed them to be...

The hand came back to pry at him again, and this time he felt as though he should rid himself of the problem. Knowing it would only take a moment or two to correct, Bucky turned and let his fist collide with the face of whoever it was that was attempting to stop him from freeing Rosemarie, feeling them fly back and hearing the thump as they fell to the ground. It wasn't hard to get the upper hand over them, and once he had them down on the ground, it was easy enough to use the weight of his body to keep them there.

" _Bucky! Please_!"

The panicked noise, so shrill and high and absolutely terrified gave Bucky pause. Something about that specific tone of voice... That was one of the ones he was supposed to protect, wasn't it? In fact, that was the one he was supposed to protect. Where was she? Why couldn't he see her? He needed to see her, if only to prove to himself that she wasn't also inside of a cryo chamber.

The white sterility of the room fractured, seeping into the floor and away, replaced by the warm, cheery tones of Sasha's room as soon as his eyes flicked open. His breathing was ragged and labored, and as he looked around the room, taking in where he was and what was real, he was beginning to put two and two together. It had been a dream; Rosemarie had not actually been in a freeze chamber, that was something his mind had come up with to torture him while he slept. The impact against his fist, however, had felt almost entirely too real to have been something he'd dreamed. In fact, he could still feel the slight stinging on his knuckles from the blow he'd dealt.

"Are y-you... awake now?" a small voice came from below him.

Despite the whole ordeal having been a dream, he was still in the position he'd been in when the dream had broken. Bucky was crouched down on the floor, one arm pulled back and poised to strike forward again, and the other being used to pin Sasha down by her throat. She was breathing pretty hard, something that was a little more than understandable, and her eyes were wide open, mimicking a doe caught in headlights. Her hands were prying at his, trying to get him to loosen up a little more on her throat, and there was a large red welt beginning to form on her cheek.

He'd hit her.

Faster than he thought himself capable, Bucky released Sasha's throat from his grasp and rolled off her, trying not to be too horrified at himself while doing so. "I..." It was all he could do to sit her upright and withdraw his hands from her completely before wanting to throttle himself. He couldn't even finish his sentence, he was so shocked at himself.

"Hey," Sasha started, voice hoarse. If she was about to do what Bucky felt like she was about to do, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to stomach it. Making excuses for his own actions was something horrible enough, but the person he loved and had ended up hurting trying to make excuses for his sake? That was something he couldn't bear. "You were having a nightmare," was all she ended up saying.

Bucky couldn't find it in himself to respond, truth be told. What could he say? _Yeah, it was a pretty fucked up nightmare, sorry for taking it out on you? I didn't mean to punch you in the face?_ Somehow he didn't think using those excuses would make him feel much better where he was concerned.

The way he was acting now, though, that wasn't right. He'd hit Sasha, true, but he knew that if she even heard half the self deprecating thoughts running through his mind, she'd smack him upside the head and tell him to knock it off. Despite what he thought an appropriate reaction for her to have should be, that didn't mean she was going to have it.

He felt her hand, a little more hesitant that time, slide over his own and grasp it gently. "Rosemarie?" she asked, repositioning herself so that she could look him in the face. At first Bucky felt inclined to turn from her, but realized the worse he held onto what had just happened a moment ago, the more negative the conversation they had while trying to fix it would be. Their arguments always seemed to be mapped in the same way: one of them is responsible for something they perceive as wrong and dangerous and tries to distance the self from the other, and the other has to give a long, heartfelt speech about why they'll always be there for the one with the problem, often punctuating the conversation with a kiss or an embrace. Bucky didn't see the need to go through another of these arguments so soon; he could talk about it with her when he was less freaked out, right? Maybe that would be better for the both of them.

"Rosemarie was in the nightmare," he explained, deciding to look at Sasha's expression. She was not angry or giving him any sort of face that could be considered accusatory, and it was likely she never would. If Bucky knew one thing about Sasha, it was that she wouldn't be likely to hold something he'd done as a result of a nightmare over his head, even if it was him hitting her in the face. "She was being kept from me. I was trying to save her."

The look Sasha gave him was positively motherly, and the little crease that formed between her eyebrows when she frowned was enough to garner some sort of soft emotion out of him. "You must've been pretty freaked," she murmured, subconsciously letting two fingers reach up to lightly touch her cheek. Before Bucky could read very far into that, she shook her head tilted it to the side. "I know you're freaking out right now."

"I'm doing my best not to," he replied quietly, feeling the need to defend himself in at least some small way. Really, there was nothing else he could say. And, technically, that was true; he didn't want to freak out on himself. If anything, it would only cause the both of them more grief.

"Try a little harder, babe," Sasha encouraged him, getting up onto her knees and scooting forward to kiss him on the cheek. That was something, at least; in a situation where he normally wouldn't want to be touched, Sasha's was a welcome comfort. Whether or not that was due to the fact that he knew he had enough control over himself not to hurt her he was unsure, but nevertheless. "Because I know you're gonna go a lot harder on yourself than I will. Okay?"

Bucky leaned his head against her shoulder. "No promises."

Her hand, so small and soft, rubbed up and down his back between his shoulder blades. How she managed to bring him back from the brink of his freak outs the majority of the time, Bucky couldn't be sure. It might have come with how she'd had to pull herself away from her own anxiety attacks and worries for years, but it didn't matter either way, he supposed. "Let's get back to bed, yeah? It's two in the morning, and you could probably do with some sweeter dreams."

" _You_ are a sweeter dream," Bucky mumbled against her. Taking a few more breaths, he eventually leaned away from her and helped her stand with him. It wasn't long before they were back in the bed, Bucky's arms around Sasha and her head tucked neatly under his chin. "You'll let me apologize in the morning?" He had to ask because he needed to make sure she would actually let him get the apology out of his mouth this time around.

"If it'll make you feel better," Sasha mumbled back, a sleepy sigh punctuating her statement. "Love you."

"Love you too." Within seconds, Sasha's breathing had slowed and he was left to feel the gradual rise and fall of her chest against him.

He really was sorry for hitting her the way he had. No aspect of that had been in any way intentional, and if he could go back and wake himself before the punch had been thrown, he would have. Still... perhaps the only reason he was so focussed on feeling bad about striking Sasha was because that wasn't even the thing he'd felt most guilty about.

That nightmare he'd had... there was something off about it. Bucky was not an expert on symbolism in nightmares, but he was half sure an appearance being made by his dead younger sister at the age he'd left her in was not to be taken lightly. What did Rosemarie's appearance in his nightmare mean, exactly? Did he need to start worrying about something a little more specific than what he had been?

For Sasha's sake, for Sasha's _wellbeing_ , he may have to justify that. Bucky's nightmares had always been very telling of the things that he should correct or pay extra attention to in his waking life, and it seemed that if he paid attention to them intently enough, he could put them to good use.

For the rest is the night, Bucky fell asleep thinking far too intently for someone who was meant to be attempting to have sweet dreams. While the dream he ended up having the second time around was brightly lit and happy, perhaps influenced by the warmth of Sasha's breath fanning over his throat as he drifted to sleep, there was always something waiting in the back of his mind to remind him that it was, in fact, only a dream. When he woke, he'd have to deal with the situations he couldn't run away from.


	20. All I Want

"Hey, so this is probably gonna be a weird question and all, but I'm gonna ask you not to immediately freak out and assume something happened as soon as I ask it. That sound possible?"

"Mmmm," Steve hummed. Shit, that sounded _really_ deliberative, and that was pretty much the exact opposite of what Andrea needed. If he turned out to be more inclined to correct the situation if he viewed it as dangerous, she'd have to explain to Bucky why all of the sudden there was another reckless super soldier at the apartment with seemingly no regard to personal safety. Also not what she needed; what she _needed_ was for Bucky to make nice with Steve and stop beating himself up over perfectly understandable accidents. "I guess I can try. Lay it on me."

 _Well_ , Andrea thought to herself, _here's hoping we don't automatically jump to the worst possible conclusion_. "Would you happen to know any good psychologists?"

There was a considerable amount of sudden silence on Steve's end of the line, which must have meant he was shocked, because throughout the duration of their phone call and all of the regular conversation, Andrea had been able to hear extra noises like those of dishes clattering and footsteps. She could only assume that the sudden lack of audio on the other line meant that Steve was reacting in the exact way she had asked him not to. Finally, after a few more moments or so, Steve took a breath and asked slowly, "He didn't... Nothing's happened to you, right? He hasn't hurt you or anything?"

Andrea supposed she may as well be up front about what happened with Steve if she was asking him for help. "Actually, he punched me in the face."

Steve sighed, sounding as exasperated as he could be without getting too hypocritical. "That's not funny, Andrea, I'm being serious. Did Bucky hurt you?" The fact that he didn't actually believe her when she was telling the truth made her laugh harder than it should have. Then again, her tone may have been a bit too sassy to sound serious, but then, she supposed she sounded that way the majority of the time.

"No, honestly, he punched me in the face," she repeated, running a hand through her hair that she'd just let down a couple minutes ago. It was Monday and she'd just gotten out of her last dance class of the school term, which meant that she no longer needed her hair up or her hickeys on display. It had been about four days since Bucky had so _kindly_ gifted her with the bruises on her skin, so they were still pretty prominent. As was the larger one on her cheek that he hadn't actually meant to give her, but a bit of foundation and powder took most of the edge off that one. He'd hit her Friday night when she'd tried to wake him up from his nightmare, and had spent most of Saturday and Sunday trying to make up for it, and those two days had probably been the only two where Andrea had truly known what it meant to be smothered. "Accidentally, obviously, but it's still the truth."

"What _happened_?" It was funny how concerned Steve sounded every time she called him. The day Andrea had had to outright tell him that she was seeing Bucky had been an absolute mess and was the prime reason she was beginning to think of Steve as a protective big brother. "Do you need me to visit?"

Definitely a solution to some of her problems, but not the one she needed solving at current. "Not for that specific reason," she answered eventually, sitting down on a bench in the locker room and holding her phone to her ear with her shoulder so that she could begin pulling her dance tights off, "I just want him to be able to talk to someone, you know? Maybe an actual doctor. He should at least have the chance to get it off his chest, don't you think?"

Because if he didn't at least come to terms with everything, if Bucky didn't get the help he needed and depended on her for his happiness the way he was doing, then what would happen the day Hydra inevitably came to take her away from him? Who would he take it out on if not himself? He needed to rekindle his connection with Steve, he needed to make mental peace with himself, and he _needed_ to care about something aside from her. The codependency they had with each other would eventually set them up in flames, which meant it would be in their best interest to correct that as soon as possible.

Which lead her to another point.

"Listen, Steve, I..." Did she really want to do this? Was it worth risking Bucky getting upset? He'd asked her to wait until he was ready for it, to let him do it on his own. He deserved at least that, Andrea knew he did, and yet she couldn't quite seem to stop herself from doing what she did next. "I want you to visit us this Friday. I think if Bucky had a conversation with you in person, he wouldn't be so wrapped up in feeling guilty all the time and he'd have someone to help him understand his nightmares."

Steve paused for a second, then said, "What exactly was his nightmare?" There was a hidden note of tense worry there that Andrea just barely managed not to miss.

"He didn't go into too much detail," she responded. It was the truth; Bucky had insisted that they not talk about the dream the morning after the accident happened, telling her that it didn't mean much and that he was sure it would pass eventually. All that told Andrea was that it was recurring and that it was fucking with his head a little more than it should have been. "Although, he did say something about his little sister Rosemarie."

"Are you telling me he's having dreams about the girls?" She couldn't figure out if the concern in Steve's voice meant that she should be amping her own up a little. "Like, often?"

"I'm not sure. He's not exactly forthcoming with the information, you know how he is. Once something worries him or he's done something he regrets, he'll do anything he can to close up and ignore the situation." It only dawned on her a second later to ask another question, one that popped into her head and made her worry further about Bucky. "Is there something I'm missing here? Did something happen to his sisters, did they...?"

"After he fell," Steve confirmed, heaving a deep sigh and sounding as though he was attempting to resign himself into having to tell the story, "it was sort of a mess. I was still in Europe, I was still on duty. They gave me leave for a little while, just long enough to get myself in check and go and visit whatever family he had left. I knew that meant I'd have to tell his sisters myself, but I didn't care as long as they didn't have to hear it from some random officer or read it on some impersonalized condolence letter. So I went back to Brooklyn, just for a few days, and when I got back to Bucky's apartment, no on one was there. Which was strange, because the girls wouldn't have been out past five on a school night, and I got there around seven."

"What's that mean?" Andrea asked, picking up on the unpleasantness that was to come. Something had happened to those little girls, she could feel it in her stomach. She just wasn't sure what that something was just yet.

Steve's tone grew slightly darker. It probably would've sounded a lot angrier if he hadn't been trying to keep it as sugar coated as he possibly could for Andrea's sake. "I asked their neighbors if they had any idea where the girls might be, but they said they hadn't seen or heard them in or out of their apartment for almost a month. And since they didn't necessarily live in the best of neighborhoods, no one batted an eye."

Those poor girls had gone missing, and Bucky hadn't been aware of that; hell, it was most likely that he still wasn't. The thing that got Andrea the most was that no one had cared enough to investigate. Jesus, she could barely even fathom that. Three girls go missing and nobody even thinks for one second that they should say anything? What sort of fucked up, convoluted bullshit was that? Who _did_ that to people?

Bucky knew his sisters were most likely dead. The question that Andrea knew he didn't know the answer to was whether they died from old age or other natural causes, or from foul play. Which meant that if it was the latter, Bucky would only have another item on his list to have a psychotic break about.

"He doesn't know," Andrea mumbled, snapping herself out of the temporary paralysis she seemed to be experiencing and doing her best to squeeze into her jeans. "Steve, he doesn't know that's what happened to them. He was just talking about them the other day."

"Don't tell him," Steve immediately responded, voice stern, "okay? I don't know what he'll do if he finds out in the wrong way. His sisters were his everything back before his service. They were so important to him. He can't know yet, alright? The last thing we need is him going after Hydra on a tirade, because you and I both know those are the first people he'll blame."

"Well, would he be right?" She couldn't help but ask, to be perfectly honest; it wouldn't surprise her if the answer turned out to be in the affirmative. "Doesn't exactly sound like something too far off from what Hydra would be willing to do."

"That's true," Steve replied, albeit hesitantly, "but I don't know for sure. I'll swing by Friday afternoon, okay? Maybe try to make sure he's in a good mood. If anybody can do that for him, I know it's you. And don't worry. Bucky's going to be just fine."

As the line clicked off and the call ended, Andrea was left to wonder whether or not she could talk herself into believing what Steve had just said.

\--

"Does it hurt very much?"

"I mean, you're definitely not bad at throwing punches in your sleep."

"Are you sure you don't want to ice it or anything? Ice always felt nice on my bruises, when I had access to it."

"I think it's fine, silly. I just gotta be careful with it, that's all."

"Well, maybe you could-"

Bucky was silenced by the look Sasha gave him. It wasn't rude or annoyed or anything like that, but the message was quite clear, and even more so when she told him exactly what she meant. "You're mothering me," she stated matter-of-factly, "and you need to chill out. I promise you, the bruise is fine. Okay? There's no need to beat yourself up about it."

He was quick to respond with, "I'm _not_ beating myself up about it. You specifically told me not to, and so that's what I'm doing. I'm simply trying to make sure you're doing okay, that's all."

Sasha rolled her eyes, setting her bag down on the coffee table and finding a place on the couch to sit cross legged next to Bucky. "You are _completely_ beating yourself up. It was an accident, okay? Remember that. You're fine, and you didn't do it on purpose."

He so wished he could take the blame away from himself, like she wanted him to do, specifically because of how wholly she believed her own words. Still; Bucky knew better. He knew Sasha would never blame him for what he did to her, not in the way he deserved to be. "You know, sometimes I wish you weren't so forgiving," he eventually mumbled, circling her with his arms and resting his chin on her shoulder, "it would make it a lot easier to feel guilty."

"Yeah, well, sometimes I wish Tony Stark would have given me an apartment closer to Manhattan instead of just sticking me in Brooklyn." Sasha leaned her head sideways, mirroring the affection he was displaying towards her. If he couldn't make up for hitting her through endless verbal apologies, he could at least give her some form of a condolence by way of touch. "But we don't always get what we want in life, now do we?"

" _Malyutka_ ," Bucky let slip in somewhat of a disbelieving tone. While he could argue that the two cases weren't in the least bit similar, he could still see the obvious solution to hers. "You talk with Steve on a regular basis over the phone. Steve lives with Tony. Why don't you make a request?"

Sasha shook her head, and Bucky could feel the ringlets her hair formed bouncing against his nose. "Because he already pays for my education _and_ this apartment. I'm just a scholarship student, he doesn't owe me anything. I'm lucky he didn't just decide to stick me on campus. You are, too, otherwise you'd still be in that run down motel room that you _weren't_ paying for."

Yeah, okay, she had him there.

Bucky raised an eyebrow despite the fact that Sasha wouldn't be able to see his change in expression. "I don't think it would hurt to pose the question, do you?"

"I would sound needy and ungrateful, two things which I am not."

"Oh, now you're just being dramatic," he countered. Which, in all honesty, she was. Sasha cared far too much about what people would think of her, which was why she hated asking for things and hated needing them. "I could ask _for_ you, if you'd like. I'm sure that'd be a hell of a way to introduce myself to Steve again. 'Hey man, my girlfriend wants an apartment closer to her college, you think you can put in a good word to Tony Stark? Nice seeing you, by the way.' I feel like that might work, don't you?"

Sasha shrugged, and hummed a little. She always did that, when she had something on her mind that she wanted to talk about but wasn't sure if she should address. Eventually, though, if he gave her enough time, it usually took place. So he sat there with her, in silence, stroking her arm with his hand and breathing in the scent of her. Just listening. Just waiting.

Finally, "I talked to Steve today." This wasn't surprising. It was Monday, which meant that it was the day Steve promised to call Sasha for him, to make sure she was still okay. Sasha had also managed to get Bucky into agreeing to invite Steve over within the week, and while he'd been under the impression that he would be the one to ask, he supposed he didn't much mind if Sasha had done it.

"Yeah?" Bucky asked. In this situation, it would be best to humor her. They would get a lot farther in their conversation that way. "How's he doing?"

Before answering, Sasha shifted around in Bucky's arms to lay her head against his chest and gave herself a better angle to peer up at him through her lashes. Despite the fact that it was completely unnecessary _and_ the fact that Bucky probably would have given into what she wanted anyway, it seemed that Sasha was attempting her best to work the system. She was actually using the means of physical contact and a gaze that was, at best, mock innocent to try and sway him. This entire display was a simple testament to how much of an influence he'd been on her manipulation skills. "He's fine. I invited him over on Friday."

He'd figured as much. "Should be fun," Bucky murmured as he leaned down to press his lips to hers. He wasn't an idiot; he could still hear the tone of worry in her voice as she told him. What he needed to do now was reassure her that it was completely okay. "Maybe now we'll have a chance at being in bed without you bringing him up."

Sasha laughed, and the feeling of it against his mouth made Bucky's heart feel lighter. Just being around her tended to have that effect on him, but catching her giggles boosted his mood ten times further. "Okay, look, I've only done that like-" she took a moment to look down and count on her fingers, "-two times! I've done that twice!"

"Really?" Bucky countered, tilting his head to the side. "And what about last night?" Because he _certainly_ wasn't about to let her forget that one.

For a moment Sasha had to think about her response, but it wasn't long before she came up with, "Technically that wasn't _in_ bed."

Oh, _that_ was rich. "Sasha. You don't have to be _in_ bed to have sex."

She gave him a very 'duh' look. "You said I said it when we were _in_ bed, though! Which isn't right, because we _weren't_!"

Taking his arms from around her, Bucky threw them into the air in exasperation. "Okay, I don't know about you, but I'm still ninety five percent sure that we were definitely having sex. And you brought up Steve! _Again_!"

Perhaps not the best choice of words, because Sasha quickly countered with, "What about the other five percent? What was that?"

"That was the part of my mind reserved for going, 'Is she actually talking about Steve _frickin_ ' Rogers right now, oh my god.' Which has now become a very needed space in my mind, because apparently your favorite time to bring him up is when I'm trying to sleep with you!"

Her laughs were the kind that used up her entire body, and Bucky could feel her curling into a ball in his lap from the exertion. He tried not to give into it; he really did. But once he thought on the situation for another second, it became down right hilarious. How many people could say they actually had this conversation regularly with their significant other? Not many, he was sure. And while he didn't exactly enjoy that his girlfriend tended to bring Steve up at the time she was doing so, it didn't quite mean that he couldn't laugh about it later. Because, in all honesty, it was worth laughing about. It was funny as _hell_.

Eventually, the both of them managed to calm down, and Sasha reached a hand up to cup his cheek. He was always doing that to her, just to give her some form of affection other than the constant kisses she received anyway, but he much preferred it when she was the one giving out the affection. "Okay. I promise to never talk about Steve Rogers ever again while we're getting intimate. In bed, or otherwise."

Bucky squinted his eyes and gave her a skeptical look. It wouldn't be fun to let her off too easy. "Not even afterwards? Because you do that too."

"I won't say his name unless we are fully clothed," she stated, raising her right hand in a mock oath. Then, she rolled her eyes. "Fine?"

"You won't be able to handle that," Bucky responded. Okay, so he might have been baiting her a little bit, but it was most definitely worth the reaction he got from that.

Sitting up quickly and looking as though she'd just bee issued a challenge that was so easy to accomplish she couldn't refuse it, Sasha repositioned herself so that she sat in his lap and faced him directly. Bucky had to chuckle a little bit; the look of absolute fire in the girl's eyes was just far too much for him. "You wanna make a bet?"

Deciding it would be pretty stupid to 'challenge' her further, Bucky let his hands find her hips and gave her the largest grin he could. "Why make just one?"

\--

"Sam?" Natasha called, knocking on the door to his room before entering. She supposed she might have waited a bit longer, or even until she's gotten a response that confirmed that she was actually allowed to _enter_ the room, but then, she'd never been very good at knocking. Assassins didn't knock. Assassins went where they needed to go to get information and accomplish tasks. At least, that was the excuse she used whenever someone, mainly Tony, felt the need to hypocritically comment on her knocking skills. "You in here?"

"I'm here," Sam responded from his place in the bed centered in the middle of the room. Although it was technically a 'guest room,' it was just as large as any of the other rooms that the people who normally resided in the tower slept in. There were large windows, offering a fair view of Manhattan, a conjoined bathroom, a large closet, and small yet elegant pieces of furniture here and there. Sam looked up from the book he was reading, saw Natasha, and promptly marked his page. "What's up?"

"Hey," Natasha replied. She stepped fully into the room, closed the door, and made her way over to the bed. "Do you mind if I sit?" she asked, recrossing her arms. That was something she shouldn't be doing; crossed arms were signs of dejectedness, a closed off individual, or a threatened individual. God, she really needed to get better at this whole friendship thing. Not that she was _bad_ at it; she wasn't. It's just that the only people she could really consider friends were the ones living in the tower with her and Nick Fury, but Clint didn't count because she was _with_ Clint and Fury didn't count because he was supposed to be dead and everyone in the tower was supposed to pretend like he was when he really wasn't. Sam was still a relatively new friend. Natasha still wasn't quite sure how to _deal_ around Sam.

"Not at all," Sam answered her, and so she sat down. She couldn't see the title of the book he had been reading and she registered that his tone was not upset at being interrupted. In fact, he didn't seem bothered to have her there _at all_ , and that was something she had no idea what to do with. "Something on your mind, Nat?"

Natasha shrugged, attempting to pass herself off as nonchalant when she felt anything but. She felt guilty; she felt sad. Upset with herself, even, but not really nonchalant. "I just... felt like I needed to apologize. To you."

There. That wasn't so bad.

Sam furrowed his brow, leaned forward, rested his elbows on his legs, and rested his head in his hands. "Why would you need to apologize to me? You haven't done anything to me." A sudden joking look popped into his face. "Unless you poisoned me? I knew it! I _knew_ Steve's pancakes tasted weird this morning!"

Despite herself, Natasha smiled. God, it was _so_ unfair that other people had the ability to make her laugh when she was trying to be serious. "No, no, nothing like that. It's just, I keep thinking about the other day, when we were all talking and I insinuated that you didn't actually love your little sister. I'm sorry I said that to you."

His confusion seemed to deepen further, but there was also a touch of realization. "Nat," Sam started, lifting his head from his hands and shaking it, "you said that to me awhile ago. I know you didn't mean anything by it, you were just trying to get a point across. You don't need to apologize for that."

"I do. It hurt your feelings, and I could've gotten the point across in a different way."

Sam shrugged. "Maybe. But it's not a big deal, and I don't take things so personal, so we're fine. And I accept the apology."

It felt as though a great weight has been lifted off her shoulders, and Natasha flopped down onto the bed face first when she heard that. "Oh, thank god." There was silence between the two of them for a few minutes. Natasha enjoyed comfortable friendship silences. Something about them was just so comforting and relaxing, it was hard to explain. Then a thought bubbles up in her mind, and she asked Sam, "You know Steve's gonna see her this Friday?"

"I did."

"You gonna go with him?"

"I don't think so."

Natasha rolled over and gave Sam a bewildered look. "Well, why not? I know you want to see her."

A shrug was his response. "I do want to see her. But if I see her, then I'm going to feel obligated to tell her she's my sister, and I don't know if she can handle finding out she's Alexander Pierce's daughter _and_ my half sister within such a short amount of time."

Natasha pursed her lips in thought, trying to figure out reasons that he should tell her. "Maybe she'd enjoy having a brother?"

"She already has one."

"Well, maybe she'd like _another_ one, you never know."

Sam laughed, but shook his head. "I don't know, Nat. We'll see."


	21. Sugar, We're Going Down

The one downside to working part time at a restaurant that needed to block your schedule around your school days, Andrea decided, was that as soon as they found out school was out for the summer, they decided it was cool to flip a fast one on you and fuck up your hours. Usually she at least got some warning before the inevitable took place, but her manager must have heard her talking to Julian about summer plans the previous week and written her down for the early shift for the end of the week. Which meant Friday morning.

She hadn't been excited to receive the phone call, and the poor employee who'd been told to tell her to come in probably deserved an apology as soon as she walked through the door, but Andrea wasn't about to blame herself for being upset. She'd been counting on having extra time to sleep; if she'd known she was working early shift, she wouldn't have allowed Bucky to keep her up as late as he had the night before.

Did Andrea enjoy sleeping with her boyfriend?

Yes.

Did that mean she was willing to lose sleep for the sake of it?

_Fuck no._

The only thing that made her a little more okay with what her schedule had been changed to was that it didn't prevent her from having the meeting with Steve at her apartment. He wasn't planning on being over until late afternoon, and anyway, she supposed Bucky could use the solitude to mentally prepare. He'd been woken by the same phone call that Sasha had, and had reacted in pretty much the same way. Bucky'd offered to walk her to work, but Andrea told him to stay in bed. She didn't function well without proper sleep; Bucky didn't function _at all_.

Now, though? Now she wished she'd accepted his offer. It was the first time it had happened in months, mainly because Bucky's presence scared off practically anyone who was looking to inappropriately chat her up, but it hadn't been so long that she forgot how to recognize the typical signs; someone was following her. And it wasn't a singular someone, either. There were at least three of them.

She'd first noticed what was going on when she was about two blocks out from her apartment building and had seen the first one's reflection in a window. She'd slowed her walk to let him pass, assuming by his body language that he had somewhere to be, but as soon as that happened, he did the same. If she slowed, he slowed. If she sped up, he sped up. It wasn't just him, either, something it took her a little while to realize, because out of the corner of her eye, she could see two others across the street, dressed similarly and doing the same.

Andrea breathed for a moment, trying to assess the situation. She was in her waitressing dress, she was walking by herself, and there were three men following her. Why she's chosen to walk to work in her uniform for the first time in a long time, she didn't know, but it definitely wasn't one of her wisest decisions. Once she fully understood just how this situation was meant to play out, it was time for her to react. Which, in that moment, she could admit there was a better response that could have been drawn from her, but the adrenaline was already kicking in. There was no stopping her reaction once it began, and there was no changing what followed after that.

Running was her first instinct, and once she started, she could hear the feet of the man behind her slamming against the pavement. That didn't matter; it couldn't, because she had to _concentrate_. If there was one slip up, if she lost her footing even once, the man would be on her and his friends would cross the street. One man was difficult enough to get away from on her own. Three would be a complete game over.

Her heart was pounding and she was so anxious she barely registered that she was supposed to turn instead of run straight on like she was doing to get to work, but the panic had seized her so totally that she'd made an impulsive decision. It was hard not to give into the temptation to look over her shoulder, but Andrea knew she would've swan dived then and there. Sure, she was a dancer, but that didn't mean she was particularly graceful while using her body for anything else. Far too many memories of falling down the stairs and tripping over her own feet were a testament to that.

Andrea was beginning to find that her air supply was lacking. She wouldn't be up for this stupid chase much longer, and from what she saw, those crazy ass guys weren't backing down in the slightest; actually, one of the ones across the street seemed like he was going even faster, if that was possible. It wouldn't be long before they caught up to her, and if no one knew she hadn't made it to work or why, she'd probably be way worse off than if she managed to contact somebody. But how was she supposed to do that? Texting wasn't exactly going to work, not at the rate she was going. Her feet were hitting so hard against the pavement and she was concentrating so much that even her _mind_ felt jostled. No, it would have to be a phone call. That was the only way it would work.

Her lungs felt like fire, and she knew she wouldn't be able to keep it up much longer, but at least she managed to unlock her phone and hit Bucky's contact name with minimal effort. The man behind her yelled something to his friends across the street, but Andrea couldn't make it out over the monotonous ringing coming from her cell. What she really wanted to know was how this was happening in broad fucking daylight without _any_ interference whatsoever. It seemed highly unlikely that Bucky Barnes was the only person kind enough to stop on the street and help a girl in trouble, so where the hell were the people who could understand the sight of a girl running from three very large, very sketchy looking men when she needed them?

There was a small alley coming up on her right, one that would lead her to the opposite side of the building block she was currently running along. That would give her a chance to lose them, she figured; it would be easy to duck inside the door to some place and ask them to call the cops for her while she was momentarily safe, and hopefully these men wouldn't pursue her any further after that. It was actually scarily impressive that they were still running after her, in any case. She knew there were some sketchy people where she lived, but she'd never had anyone chase her down the street like they were doing now. Crazy as fuck, these people were, but she supposed that they were determined.

Andrea made the last second decision to take that turn when she heard the other end of the phone line click on. "Mmm, hey doll face," Bucky murmured, voice still ridden with the tones of sleepiness. "You make it to work?"

"Bucky," she cried, running up to the opening of the alleyway, failing to take the time to actually look down it and make sure it led to where she was hoping it would. "Bucky, I'm in trouble. There are-"

The next thing Andrea registered, she was flat on her back on the ground in the alley, her phone had skittered away from her to some unknown location, and the wind had been knocked out of her lungs in an extremely forceful manner. Her vision blurred for a moment, her body's attempt to register the pain, and by the time her sight cleared she could see another man standing over her, though he wasn't one of the original three. His hair was dark and his skin was as well, though significantly lighter than Andrea's own, and in his eyes was some sort of wicked look of satisfaction.

"Morning, sweetheart," he greeted her, crossing his arms and tilting his head to the side. This one, she noticed was dressed similarly to the other guys, all in black and shoes that looked something like combat boots. Now that she had an up close look at the attire, Andrea wanted to say that the clothing almost made him look like...

Oh, for fuck's _sake_.

"Jacoby," came another voice, this one more deep and gruff. The sound was accompanied by footsteps, and it was all Andrea could do to tilt her head back so that she could see the three men who had been behind her walk into the alley. She must have cracked her head against the pavement when this Jacoby had pushed her down, because the moment she moved there was a sharp pain that ran through her skull. This was so _not_ how she'd been wanting her day to go. "Her cell phone?"

Jacoby inclined his head to the left... or maybe it was the right. Andrea wasn't quite sure between the pain and the disorientation. "Shattered," he answered simply, an easy sort of smirk across his face. "I highly doubt that The Asset will be able to track that in time; I wasn't planning on taking a particularly long amount of time here, were you?"

"Would you two knock it off?" started in another of the men. Andrea didn't even bother to look; it wasn't worth the headache, and she needed to concentrate on getting out of this stupid situation. Her phone was shattered, there were four guys from the stupid fucking 'company' she was supposed to 'inherit', and she couldn't move her head without seeing color blobs and stars. Other than that, she'd say she was just fucking peachy. "We don't have time for you to get cute with each other, understand? We're on a schedule."

Crouching down closer to Andrea, Jacoby rolled his eyes. "You guys are absolutely no fun. Alright, whatever, we'll make this quick then." He looked down at her, giving her a look of curiosity. "I don't suppose you're gonna make my life a little easier, Miss Pierce?"

"Fuck you," Andrea spat, throwing an uncoordinated punch Jacoby's way. Needless to say, he had no issues dodging it. "That's not my last name."

The asshole _actually_ had the indecency to laugh in her face. Andrea knew that Hydra's facility was basically the 'Pricks Only' club, but that was so uncalled for. "Okay, well there's my answer. Listen, sweetheart, McLaughlin's right. We're kinda on a time crunch, so you and I can do this one of two ways."

"I'm not telling you where he is," Andrea hissed, forgetting the position she was in and that she wasn't quite in a place to be talking to her captors the way she was. At the moment, though, she was really just too pissed off at the way her morning was going to care. "You're gonna have to kill me before I tell you where he is."

That only made Jacoby laugh further, which was, still, annoying as shit. "Now, now, Miss Pierce, there's no need to pretend that we don't already know where Sergeant Barnes is located. After all, we've had eyes on you, since, well," he shrugged, thinking it over a moment, and Andrea suddenly felt the heat of his hand at her torso through the cotton of her dress. "Since that day I carved that pretty little word into your stomach. Tell me, did he find your scars as alluring as I'm sure he was hoping you would find his?" Jacoby made the words 'scars' and 'alluring' sound dirty and insulting. "If not, I'd say that's a bit hypocritical of him."

They weren't there to harm her in the way she'd originally thought; that was the only thing keeping her from trying to scream for someone. That, and the fact that if she did, Jacoby's hand would probably move straight from her stomach to connect with her head, and she really wasn't sure if she could risk that, because she was already afraid that she might have a concussion. Regardless, in some way, the fact that these men weren't the rapists she'd believed them to be comforted her.

But then, the fact that Andrea wasn't sure anymore whether or not they were there for her or her boyfriend was equally as horrifying.

"As I was saying," Jacoby continued when she didn't offer up a response, "we'll do this one of two ways. The first one is where I don't feel the need to tie you up and chloroform you with the help of these three charming men." Andrea couldn't look, but she was half sure that at least the one named McLaughlin was rolling his eyes as hard as he could. "The second one isn't quite so pleasant, but I'm letting you make the decision. What do you say, doll face?"

Something, somewhere deep in her mind, snapped like a twig, and all of a sudden Andrea could feel nothing but the cold, dark fury radiating from her core and throughout her entire body. The creepy guys following her down the street she could deal with. The sadistic man hovering over her and giving her thinly veiled threats, she could deal with. The taunts about her scars coming from the man who had actually given them to her, she could very god damn well deal with. But the minute he called her doll face? The _minute_ he thought it was okay to use an endearment Bucky often did while showing affection, while trusting her enough to show her the most intimate parts of his soul?

To put it simply, that was the minute Andrea lost not some of, not most of, but _all_ of her shit.

" _Never_ " she yelled, using her abdominal muscles to rock onto her back and swing her legs up to kick Jacoby in the back of the head, " _ever_ call me that again, or I swear to God, Bucky Barnes will be the _least_ of your problems!" With the momentary shock and the slightly befuddled look on Jacoby's face, Andrea knew she had only a second before the men sprung into action, so she did the most logical thing she could think of: she punched him in the face, got up, and ran as fast as she could.

Because of the dizziness and nausea that came from the head injury coupled with how fast she'd had to remove herself from the ground, Andrea immediately felt the need to vomit upon standing. That would take too long, though, and it was time she couldn't afford to spare, so she began running the length of the alley like she'd originally intended to. It made her angry that she couldn't go any faster than she was, but her disorientation wouldn't allow for much more speed unless she wanted to face plant on the concrete.

As it turned out, that particular precaution didn't much matter either way. After about five seconds - which was much more time than she'd assumed she'd have to run free - an arm hooked around her neck and a hand palmed her throat, locking on tight with the fingers and slamming her back onto the ground.

Andrea couldn't much hear anything after that, except for the voice in her mind which was basically yelling off profanity after profanity. Her vision was nearly blacked out, and she couldn't tell if she was breathing properly or suffocating. At that point, it was like she didn't even have a body anymore; she existed in nothing but her mind. This thought made her feel that when she finally came back to her senses, she was probably in for one of the worst fucking headaches in the world.

Blinking seemed to help, and after she did that a couple times, she saw McLaughlin (or, the one who looked the most like his last name would be McLaughlin in her mind) bending to pick her up, his face hard and unfeeling as he threw her over his shoulder. The sudden movement made Andrea feel sick, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to vomit or actually managed to a second or so later. She knew what the next step was; any moment now, she'd be passing out, and she'd have to figure her surroundings out when she regained consciousness. Maybe if she'd tried to call Bucky sooner she wouldn't have gone and gotten herself kidnapped, but these were the cards she'd been dealt.

Just before letting herself fade out, Andrea heard Jacoby's voice filtering through the air and into her head, much slower than it would have been if she hadn't cracked her head against the pavement the second time. "Well boys," he crowed, "we've got ourselves leverage."

And somehow, that was the worst possible thing she could have heard come out of that man's mouth. Because that meant that they weren't targeting her.

They were targeting Bucky.

\--

Bucky knew there was a problem _long_ before the door to the apartment slammed open. He'd known since Sasha's call, actually, and that had taken place at about eight in the morning.

It was deceptive, in a way, that phone call. When he opened his eyes to find his phone ringing, Bucky had let himself smile a little bit. He wasn't used to having someone to give him Good-Morning-I-Love-You wake up calls, and he hadn't had a relationship like that in, well, maybe his whole life. Not a _real_ relationship. Sure, Steve would pop by every morning to visit Bucky and the girls back in the thirties, but this was different. This was a romantic sort of deal, and was the reason he'd been feeling so good about that phone call, knowing it was what would make his morning a nice one. But then he'd heard the sheer panic and absolute terror in her voice upon the first sound she let out, and the illusion of happiness and serenity shattered. Sasha had cried his name twice; that was all it took for him to understand something was horribly wrong. Bucky had tried to understand the issue, had done his best to figure out what the problem was, but the line had gone dead before Sasha could even finish her third sentence.

It was now several hours later, and Bucky was seriously trying to avoid breaking down, letting that dark, unforgiving, mercenary side of his mind take control, and go out to find Sasha and bring her home by whatever means necessary. There were several reasons he couldn't do that, the first and foremost being that if he was out looking for Sasha and she somehow managed to escape the threat and make it home, followed by the problem, he wouldn't be there to protect her from whatever it was. Another was that he had no idea what or who he was looking for. True, a Hydra agent was the most likely candidate, but they weren't the only threat towards a twenty year old girl that existed in Brooklyn.

The most logical thing he could think to do was call Steve, and he was relieved to hear his old time friend's voice when he began speaking. Bucky had been preparing mentally to see Steve all week, had even secretly gotten excited about the whole thing; he was finally going to reconnect with someone who understood exactly what he'd gone through. Sasha did her best for him, she really did, but there was something about having someone who had essentially went through the same time hop as him in existence that was somewhat... comforting.

That sense of reassurance and comfort would have to wait, though. There was a girl whose needs were currently, and would always be, far above any of Bucky's own. Anything to do with her life and safety were more important to him, and if it came down to a point where he'd have to choose between Sasha and himself, he would pick Sasha one hundred percent. He was sure she'd be angry with him if he ever said that to her out loud, but it was the truth. Bucky would allow himself to be recaptured, tortured, and executed one thousand times over if it meant Sasha's safety.

Steve picked up on the second ring, but Bucky didn't waste any time in allowing him to offer a greeting. "I have a problem, Rogers," was what he ended up opening with. That sounded slightly harsher than it needed to, he supposed, but that was to be written off. There was no time for any worry of cordiality.

Automatically, the voice on the other end of the line grew serious, albeit slightly surprised, and inquired, "Bucky? Is that you?"

"Yes."

"You're not calling me from Andrea's phone, are you? This isn't her number."

" _No_ , it's mine. Listen, did you hear me? I said there's a _problem_. I think I'm gonna need your help to fix it."

Steve cleared his throat and although the situation was serious, he smiled a little bit, because he could actually feel Steve making that stupid face he used to make before the serum, after Bucky caught him fighting some random guy and he was trying to look tough. "What's up and how can I help?"

"Sasha called me awhile ago and it sounded like she was in some pretty serious trouble. I don't know what; I think her phone broke before anything else could be said."

"Did she give you some idea where she was?" Steve asked, sounding worried. "Have you gone out to look for her?"

"That's the problem," Bucky explained. "I can't leave the apartment in case she comes back and needs my help, but that also means I can't scout around Brooklyn for her. That is, assuming her kidnappers saw it fit to keep her in the city." A thought he didn't much like, but knew was very necessary to consider. It's what he would have done; get her away from the biggest threat to her captivity, and whoever took her would be golden. "How far are you from Brooklyn?"

"Not far enough that I can't make it there in a reasonable time frame and do some tracking. I'll bring Sam, too, and he'll keep eyes in the sky." Steve paused for a second, seemingly hesitating over something, but then pushing forward with it and saying, "I don't think anyone told you, unless you somehow already know. Sam is Andrea's biological half brother."

 _Well_ , Bucky sighed internally, _you learn something new every day._

"No, I wasn't aware, but there will be time for that later. Please: get to Brooklyn and start tracking her, and let me know if you find any leads. I'll stay at our apartment in case she comes back."

"Sounds good. If we can't find anything in an hour once we make it there, we'll drop by." And then Steve clicked off the call, leaving Bucky to himself.

The front door then proceeded to slam open directly after that, crashing loudly against the wall. This sent Bucky into his high alert mode, making him become extremely still and prompting him to coil his muscles as he stalked closer to the half open bedroom door. He'd need to be ready to spring into an attack at any moment, because there was no telling just what was coming into the apartment. It could have been argued that he had the means to attempt an educated guess, and he was damn sure he knew exactly what it was, but his training told him to allow for the unexpected to come to pass. That was why he deftly took his phone back out of his pocket and shot an emergency text to Steve, plainly saying:

**911 S.O.S.**

With that insurance in place, Bucky figured he may as well play dumb, lure whoever it was into the room, and figure out what they wanted. And so, getting even closer to the door but pointedly staying behind it, he did his best to sound as innocently as he could while calling out, " _Moy Sashen'ka? Eto ty?"_

As he'd expected, there was no response. Silence punctuated by slow footsteps was all he heard, and it surprised him how violently angry that made him. He'd spoken enough Russian around Sasha for her to understand that particular phrase, and if it had been a normal day with her coming through the door, finally home from work, she would have called something along the lines of, 'Yeah, nerd, I'm home. Come love me.' And he would have gone out to meet her in the living room, he would have been up and out of the bedroom so fast, and Bucky would have wrapped his arms around her and held her head to his chest a while, placing a kiss at the top of it before letting her go completely. They'd have been happy. They'd have been secure in one another's safety, and Bucky wouldn't be feeling the dangerous, black urge to murder somebody in cold blood for taking that away from him.

But then, nobody was perfect.

Instead of a reply, the person walking towards the door to the bedroom paused a moment, then entered, failing to see Bucky behind the door and now stood facing away from him. The man was a typical Hydra leech, dressed in the typical black uniform and weaponey, as well as sporting a bullet proof vest as though Sasha would allow Bucky to keep guns in the apartment; she'd made it very clear that she was against that sort of thing. Bucky still placed guns in the apartment of course, mainly because he felt it was a necessary means of protection, but it had been without Sasha's knowledge. It was the only lie he'd ever really told her, but it was a necessary evil.

The man began speaking, but didn't get very far before Bucky got bored. " _Zimniy Soldat_ ," he opened with, which translated to 'Winter Soldier.' God, what a fucking cliché. These people were so unoriginal. " _My znayem, chto ty zdes'._ " Wow, buddy, way to state the fucking obvious. Bucky was getting really bored really fast. " _Sdat'sya, ili-_ " Right, okay, that was enough.

Bucky lunged out from behind the door and grabbed the man in a choke hold, letting his old skills come back to the front of his mind to help him with the fight. Not that there was much fighting to be had; Bucky had a slightly unfair advantage, surprising the man from behind, but that was the way this sort of stuff went. The man threw his arm back to defend himself as soon as he felt Bucky make contact with him, but Bucky only got a firm grasp on his arm with his left hand and pulled as hard as he could until he heard the sickening snap of a bone, accompanied by the man's screams. After that, it was easy enough to prompt him to drop the gun he held in his hand, allowing Bucky the chance to place him in a restrictive chokehold, lean down, and grab the handgun off the floor.

"If you make a move," Bucky spoke calmly into the man's ear, waiting for the cries of pain to subside, "I will not hesitate to put you down. I'm missing a meeting with my best friend for this bullshit, you guys kidnapped my girlfriend, and long story short, I'm having the worst fucking morning I've had in a long time. I _dare_ you to try me."

The man simply whimpered. Bucky took that as a sign that he had no plans to fight back and began walking him through the door and slowly leading him to the living room, calling out, "I have one of your men! If anyone pulls any crazy shit, I _will_ shoot him. Don't think that I won't; after all, I'm _your_ ex-mercenary." A bitter laugh escaped him, and he couldn't help but notice his hand holding the gun was shaking just the tiniest bit. "This is what you _trained_ me for."

Upon entering the living room, Bucky found just what he expected to. There were six men, all with very intimidating guns pointed his way. Many looked to be in their late thirties or early forties, heavily muscled and armed with weaponry. If he counted, and he did, Bucky would find at least sixteen unconcealed knives between them, and there were probably even more strapped under their clothing. A brunet man was giving him a particularly loathing look, as though he found it insulting that Bucky would even attempt to protect himself. Typical Hydra agents, always blaming you for what they couldn't control.

"Drop your weapon, soldier," another man, close to the brunet one, barked at him. "If you don't, we'll be forced to fire."

Bucky rolled his eyes and cocked his gun, pressing it firmly against the head of the man he held in his arms. Only now was he beginning to notice that this man was actually little more than a young man, and was doing his best to conceal how scared he was. He wasn't very good at it, because Bucky could feel him trembling, but he decided to pretend not to notice. The boy must've been a newer recruit. Bucky felt guilty, but only as much as he could feel for someone who would willingly get involved with an organization. "I don't care _what_ you do! Where is Alexandrea? Tell me or I'll shoot him, so help me god!"

That was when he heard a voice he never, ever thought he'd be hearing in a situation like the one he was in. "No James. You will do no such thing."

She walked through the door with a professionally poised expression, managing to look at Bucky as though he were a small child behaving as a delinquent. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail, and her eyes were cold as ice. Of all the people he would have guessed were secretly Hydra, she had been the last on his list. He'd looked straight at her upon meeting her, judges her up and down, had analyzed her character through their conversations, and yet somehow she managed to get by his notice. This was where his and Sasha's problems had been lain. They weren't because Hydra had the apartment bugged or made their agents tail them everywhere they went. Their problems were because they'd been inviting Hydra along for the ride this entire time without even realizing it.

"I should've known Nova was a fake name," he spat bitterly, giving her an accusing glare. In retrospect he knew it wouldn't do anything to her, but it made him feel better for the time being. "Who are you, then? Alexander Pierce's other illegitimate daughter? Or maybe you're the one he _actually_ had in wedlock?"

Her face never faltered once, not even just for a moment. She just kept staring at him, blinking and assessing. It was almost as though she was trying to categorize something in the way he was responding to this news, but eventually she just tilted his head and have him a quizzical look. "Sorry to disappoint, but no. You really don't recognize me, do you?"

God, he was so past this crap that a police officer would have given him a speeding ticket for how fast he was trying to be done with it. "Let me just ask what you clearly want me to. Should I?"

The blonde girl - he really wasn't sure what he should call her anymore, to be frank - shrugged. "I suppose not, but I just figured since you remember..." She heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes, shaking off what seemed to be some sort of nostalgia and fixing Bucky with a cool gaze. "My name is Dominika Kazakova, actually. You trained me in the Red Room, along with Natalia, to earn the title of Black Widow assassin. You can see which of us won, obviously. It was you who taught me how to kill."

To be honest, Bucky barely even remembered training _Natalia_ in the soviet Red Room school. There was no way in hell he was going to be able to remember this Dominika of all people, and he voiced as much. "Yes, well, it wasn't a particularly memorable event for me, apparently, but that's not important right now. What _is_ important is why you'd think that giving me that scrap of information instead of what I asked for is enough incentive to keep me from blowing this guy's head off."

"Well," Nova - _Dominika_ \- replied, "it's very simple, you see. See the hand on the arm of his that you've broken?" Bucky looked down, failing to immediately grasp what she was trying to point out. When he couldn't find it, he waited for her to continue on. "There's a wedding band there."

"So?" Bucky snarled. If she was trying to stall, she was doing a poor job of it. Bucky was beginning to get impatient.

"So he has his own ' _Sashen'ka_ ' waiting for him at home. He's newly wed, actually, they've only been together about a month." Dominika's smile was positively cruel. "Could you do that, James? Would you be able to sleep at night, knowing you consciously killed someone of your own free will without having your little brainwash excuse to hide behind?"

The comparison hit him square in the face, and the thoughts played through his mind. Could he? Would he be able to do to some poor girl what was currently being done to him? She probably had no idea who she was married to, probably was hoping to gain happiness and children from her marriage to this man. Would Bucky be able to take that away from her and still manage to sleep at night? If memory served correctly, he'd barely managed to stomach the thought during World War II. With a free mind and an empathetic conscience, would he be able to kill this man with some form of peace of mind still in tact?

Most likely not.

Yelling in frustration, Bucky released the young man and shoved him forward. He stumbled awkwardly, and Bucky was now able to gauge that he was somewhere in his mid to late twenties, early thirties at the latest. Dominika was correct. Bucky wouldn't have been able to forgive himself if he'd killed that boy without any true reason, and that guilt was about the last thing he needed on his conscience. "Fucking _take_ him, then, I don't _care_! Just tell me where Alexandrea is!"

Dominika blinked at Bucky very slowly, seeming to be trying to figure something about him out again. Face suddenly becoming completely devoid of any emotion, she pulled the gun out of the holster at her waist, cocked and aimed it quickly, and effortlessly shot the young man in the head. Bucky nearly let out a cry of shock, but managed to get ahold of himself as Dominika looked back at him. "You should have learned this lesson by now, Soldier. Sympathy is a flaw in battle. It will get you killed."

It took him a moment to tear his eyes away from the newly made corpse lying in a pool of blood on the carpet, but he eventually managed it. Bucky didn't shoot that young man, Dominika did. So why was it that he felt responsible?

He was distracted from his thought by Dominika's next words. "Bring her in, then. Make it quick."

Two more men, who must have been waiting outside the ajar door to the apartment marched in, carrying between them a small, thin, brown skinned girl. They walked her past the corpse, which she barely seemed to register while doing her best not to trip over her own feet, and sat her down on the sofa.

 _Alexandrea_.

Bucky lunged forward to at least touch her, but upon that action he heard several guns cock at the same time. He looked around incredulously at all of them. "I just want to _see_ her," he stated, stunned disbelief in his tone, "just let me _see_ her."

Dominika smirked. "You _are_ seeing her, James, but that's not how this is going to work. So, let me tell you your options, okay? Darling Miss Pierce here more than likely has a severe concussion from when a group of our special agents were trying to subdue her and she most likely needs medical attention. She hasn't been able to focus on much sine they grabbed her; I assume she's having some cognitive issues that we could make a lot worse if we so chose. If you play along and come with us, we'll leave her here and let her live. We aren't interested in her. All we want is you."

Yeah fucking _right_.

"She's the heir to your company," Bucky dead panned.

Dominika shrugged. "And she has made it very clear that she's uninterested in us, which means that we need to be uninterested in her. I can make that happen if you come with us willingly. If not, we'll kill her, and force you to come anyways."

Bucky looked at Sasha sitting on the couch. He didn't know what they'd done to her, but it was obvious she was in need of some medical attention. There were bloody scrapes here and there, no doubt the handiwork of the men who'd captured her, but that didn't matter. Bucky gazed at her and continued to see the loveliest girl in the world. God, he loved her. He'd give _anything_ for her to be safe... including himself.

Steve would arrive any time. If Bucky managed to clear the apartment of enemy agents by consenting to go with them, then Steve could get Sasha to a hospital, get her better. Bucky would likely never see Andrea again, but he would have the knowledge that she was taken care of.

Sasha, who apparently had more focus to pay attention to the way the conversation was going than Bucky had assumed, mumbled, "Don't you fucking dare, I am _not_ worth it."

What she didn't understand was that, to him, she was.

"Can I at least say goodbye?" he asked. His voice was beginning to crack and his composure was slipping, but he would _not_ allow these monsters to see him with tears in his eyes. "Please?"

Laughter erupted from Dominika, shaking her slender frame. "You've grown weak, James. Goodbyes will only make it worse. We need to leave now."

"Bucky," Sasha tried again. Her voice was strained, and he could tell it was hard for her to string together a sentence correctly at the time. They must have banged her up pretty badly, and that thought made Bucky's mouth sour. " _Don't_."

Instead of listening, he turned back to Dominika. "You'll let her live?"

"You have my word that once we all leave this apartment, none of us will have any contact with her ever again."

"Then I consent." Bucky disarmed the gun and let it drop to the floor. "Take me."

Immediately, half the men charged him, cuffing him and beating him into a submission he was already in. Dominika came forward and pricked him with a syringe, a precaution, as she'd named it, and Bucky could almost immediately feel his eyelids weighing down. Sasha's calls were fuzzy as they lead him out of the apartment.

What happened next remained very clearly in his mind.

All were outside the door except for Dominika. She paused just at the threshold, gave Bucky that strange, analytical look again, and allowed her face to return to one of a satisfied cruelty. Through the sluggishness he was feeling, Bucky registered that that was a bad look to be given by a girl like that. "I can't believe how easy that was. You used to know how to spot a bullshit situation miles before you even saw one." Bucky was fighting to keep his eyes open as he watched her cock her gun, take a step back, and slowly close the door to the apartment.

Thirty seconds later there were three shots fired off and a loud, _loud_ feminine scream. He knew the difference in the voices between the two females well enough to know which one the scream had come from.

Dominika stepped out the door and closed it behind her, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Like I said. After all of us have stepped out of the apartment, we'll never be able to have contact with her again."

Bucky, the anguish he so suddenly felt because of what he understood, what Dominika's words _meant_ not being enough to keep him away from the drug's influence, registered the disgustingly smug smirk on her face before he crashed into unconsciousness like a car into a tree.


	22. Troubled Souls

"How are you feeling, James?"

Dominika's voice prompted Bucky to open his eyes and stare up at her accusingly. He'd regained consciousness around ten minutes before, but hadn't felt like dealing with the Hydra soldiers undoubtedly in charge of him. Either he'd slipped up or they were somehow tracking his brain activity, because that was the only reason she'd be standing before him now.

Choosing not to respond, Bucky instead let his gaze shift to the room around him. There wasn't much to see, not in the type of room they were holding him in. The darkness was meant to desensitize him, and the lack of furniture was meant to impersonalize the experience. He was sat in a heavy duty chair and chained to it, both of the items having been manufactured specifically to keep Bucky in check; aside from that and the simple folding chair resting across from him, they were the only items the room contained. Sasha, if she were present, would have made some type of wisecrack about how the room was basically a weird, hipster minimalist torture dungeon, and Bucky would have laughed in spite of the situation.

But Sasha _wasn't_ there. Sasha wouldn't be _anywhere_ , not ever again, and it was his fault. If he'd tried harder to fight against those agents, if he'd just walked her to work, if he'd known Dominika had been _lying_ to them about who she was the entire time, Bucky could have stopped it. The death of the girl he loved was essentially his own doing.

That particular realization came accompanied by the feeling that an ice shard had pierced his spine. God, he was helpless to stop his train of thought. Dominika's presence seemed only to further it along.

Speaking of Dominika, the blonde tilted her head to the side and crossed her arms. It was funny, really; Bucky had seen that pose while still knowing her as Nova, but the contrast between the two images were astounding. Dominika and Nova were the same person physically, but emotionally and personality wise, Nova had managed to be the one to gain his favor. "It's impolite to ignore people."

"It's also impolite to falsely befriend someone and then end that fake relationship by shooting them three goddamn times, but shit happens, huh?"

"James," Dominika gasped, an expression of mock hurt on her features. "It was never my intention to hurt her." She pressed an insulted hand to her chest as she sank down in the chair in front of him, still wearing that bulletproof vest. Which, undoubtedly, was completely unnecessary, as they'd obviously patted him down and removed any of the weapons on his person. The clothes on his body didn't even feel like the ones he'd been wearing before they'd taken him.

Bucky hadn't known how much more disgusted he could become with this girl who'd mislead him and Sasha, but he was beginning to think he had an idea. It wasn't just disgust, either, but a deeply settled rage at how ridiculously ludicrous her words actually were. "You're fucking joking, right? Three bullets weren't an intention to harm her? Putting her in the hospital and giving her scars to send a message wasn't an intention to _harm_ her? She was fucking wrecked for weeks! You know she was, you were _there_! Sending in a sleeper agent to pose as a high school girl and befriend her only to ultimately kill her in the end? Don't you _dare_ fucking tell me that your intent was never to harm her, you are _just as bad_ , if not _worse_ than I am!"

Dominika crossed her legs and rested her hands in her lap. Perhaps the pose was meant to intimidate, but Bucky couldn't find it in himself to care very much. Sasha had been the source of his lighter, more empathetic emotions; she was gone now. All he felt was fire and destruction, and perhaps, way at the bottom of his stomach, a hint of the sorrow he was trying _not_ to feel, because once it came up and Bucky truly, _truly_ registered that his love was forever gone, he would break and Dominika would have her way. "You don't know me, James. You did once, but you've made it clear that you don't remember."

"And I don't _want_ to," he snapped at her. "Tell me, how is it Natalia grew up to be one of the most heroic women this nation knows and you grew up to be her sadistic counterpart? You said I trained you both. What happened?"

Either it was his imagination, or the composure that was so carefully placed on Dominika's face was beginning to slip just the tiniest. "She was _weak_ ," Dominika snapped at him. There was something there in her face, something past the cruelty and the need to inflict pain by way of verbal abuse. There was _something_ there, but... Bucky wasn't sure how he should even begin to figure out what it was. "And for some reason you _favored_ her because of it, always giving her extra attention, extra mentoring, going soft on her. For her, it was always, 'Good form, Natalia, you're as graceful as when you're dancing. Your stealth is topnotch, you're combat is improving.'"

If this rushed, overly emotional, cracked out, desperate and self pitying confession was going anywhere _close_ to where Bucky thought it was, then he imagined he was going to need a large bottle of Vodka to sustain himself through the rest of it. Otherwise, he was sure it counted as some form of sadistic torture all its own.

"When it came to me?" Bucky apparently really needed to learn how to treat people better in his downtime. "For me, it was always, 'No, Dominika, you're stance is incorrect. How do you hope to poison someone and get away undetected when your stealth is practically nonexistent? Your feet are as loud as thunder, step lighter.' Always a reprimanding comment, never anything positive. That is why Natalia is where she is today, and that is why they discontinued your mentorship in the Red Room. It's why we're here now."

Oh, _that_ was comical.

"You're telling me you killed Alexandrea because you were jealous that I gave Natalia Romanov more attention than you at your glorified ballet school? Do you even _hear yourself?_ " Having to sit there and listen to that entire spiel had been bullshit. He didn't need to hear this, he didn't _want_ to, and yet... something, in a way, weirdly connected in his head, and understanding dawned on him. "Oh my god, that's what this is about, isn't it? You were jealous of Natalia, of my paying close attention to her. Is that it? _That's_ why you killed Alexandrea? To get back at me for something I can't even remember?"

Dominika's face, beautiful but marred with cruelty, scowled across at him. Despite this, her tone of voice sounded as though she'd gotten exactly what she'd wanted. "Of course not, James, don't be silly. I killed Alexandrea because she was a liability to this organization. She made it very clear she had no interest in the position she would inherit, and so she couldn't go unattended. Not only that, but I knew that if we came after you, which was the ultimate goal, then Alexandrea wouldn't stop trying to get you back, which also made her a threat to future plans. I would've hardly had the time."

Bucky didn't miss the crucial detail he was supposed to be hearing. "What future plans?"

"I thought that was obvious." The icy blue eyes set into her face almost seemed to flash in the darkness. "I need you to revert, James. We need you to become The Asset again. S.H.I.E.L.D. has fallen, true, but we have it on good faith that they're rebuilding themselves as fast as they can, and I'd rather not take that chance." It was amazing, how casually she'd thrown that out there.

The incredible thing was, Sasha had seen this coming miles before Bucky had even caught a glimpse of the situation. She'd spent days attempting to get him to promise that in the event of her death, he would do the exact opposite of what Dominika now expected from him. It was why she'd been trying so hard to push him towards Steve, to make sure he had some other regular form of contact in his life. Somehow, her feeling that something bad was going to happen to her had been one hundred percent correct, but Bucky couldn't be sure of whether or not he could keep the unspoken promise he'd made her.

If anything, he would do his damnedest to make that happen.

"Lady," Bucky sighed, rolling his eyes as slowly as he could stand, simply to make the action more offensive. If there was one thing he remembered perfectly about himself, it would be the fact that being a smart ass was an innate skill of his. "Your psycho ass is barking up the _wrong_ goddamn tree."

"I know I hurt your feelings and all, but name calling is just the tiniest bit petty, don't you think so?"

Bucky could sense that underneath the sarcasm there was a serious tick of annoyance, and he planned to exploit that for all he could. "I'd say you're the one who's more prone to pettiness, Miss Kazakov. Shooting an innocent girl because you had an insecurity issue some years back when you were likely younger than she was. She was little more than a _child_ ; you realize that?"

"And yet, you're the one who was sleeping with her. If anything, I'd say you were the one who put her most at risk, especially because of the-" Dominika cut herself off, mouth snapping shut so quickly that Bucky believed she'd almost genuinely let something slip. _Now we're getting somewhere._ "Well. I'm not at liberty to say."

Mostly, her hesitance just ticked him off. "Because of the _what_? I know exactly all of the things I did to put her at risk; if you think any of those are secrets, you are _sadly_ mistaken. You might as well share what you're getting at."

Bucky didn't like how pleased Dominika looked in response to what she probably assumed was cluelessness, but Bucky had been mentally cataloging his actions with his girlfriend. He knew which things he'd done had been dangerous, and that had been most of them. "It's not mine to share. That's between you and your next visitor." "Oh, I'm allowed visitors now? You guys must've really stepped up your game since the last time I broke free."

"Don't be so snippy, James." Amazingly, the girl _actually_ had the gall to let her expression _soften_ for him. "You'll thank me for this one."

"Yeah, not likely, but you keep hoping."

Dominika simply murmured, "We'll see," before standing and walking from the room, careful to only open the door and let in as much light as it required for her to slip out. After that, Bucky was alone in the darkness.

There was no way he could have prepared for what came next. Insanity, he'd assumed, had finally befallen him, because it didn't make any sense.

One moment, it was silent. Nothing could be heard in the room except for Bucky's own breath, and he'd let himself fall into a relaxed state because of it. In the darkness, his senses grew sharper because of the way he'd managed to hone them so long ago, and he trusted them; if he couldn't hear anyone else in the room and hadn't seen any light let into the room by the opening of the door, which would have been blinding anyway, then that meant he was alone. Perhaps it was meant to give him a sense of false security, but in all honesty, he'd been so insistent on not allowing himself to fall for the tactic that he hadn't factored in the possibility that they were simply trying to psych him out for what was to come.

Because that was the thing with these people. They didn't settle for the normal methods of interrogation, persuasion, and torture; people like Dominika wouldn't have found it _entertaining_ enough. No, they wouldn't send in a large man with a knife and some serious pent up aggression like people would have stereotypically thought. That wouldn't have worked, and they knew it, because Bucky had enough skill to get the knife off the hypothetical man and stick it very forcefully into his neck, which he wouldn't hesitate to do. In fact, he had very distinct memories of _doing_ it, which meant that they wouldn't be able to pull normal tactics on him.

Hydra was going to have to get creative, and as soon as that thought crossed his mind, he was shown just how creative they could be.

There was silence, then his breath, then silence again. It was calm enough, it was good, he was alone, and it was fine. And then, "Oh, Bucky, look at you. How did we end up here?"

Bucky's back went rigid. That sound couldn't have been real, that _voice_ couldn't have spoken aloud. He had cracked in the silence; that was the only possible explanation for what he was hearing. She was gone, her voice along with her. It couldn't have been real, and yet... that was exactly how she'd said his name while looking at him with love in her eyes, the same way she sighed when she was weary or anxious or needed rest and wanted him to hold her.

He shouldn't have done it. Bucky had heard the shots through the wall, heard her last scream of agony before dying. She was supposed to be gone; he loved her, but there was no chance for her having survived that, because she just didn't have the skill for it. The girl Bucky loved was dead, he knew it, but still he let himself hope. There was a chance that it was real, wasn't there? Steve had saved her, like Bucky thought he would, and they'd organized a rescue plan much sooner than Bucky would have thought them capable of. It wasn't very plausible, but when the matter concerned Steve, anything went. That was why he let himself whisper slowly into the darkness, not wanting to let himself believe it, yet still hoping, "Sashen'ka?"

He couldn't pin a location on the voice, couldn't figure out where the primary source of the sound was coming from, and still couldn't when it replied with a gasped out cry of, "Bucky, oh my _god_!" Just like she would have said. "What... what _happened_? I thought that, I thought you... I..."

Tears brimmed in his eyes as he shut them and allowed himself a small smile. All of the inflections were correct, the disbelieving tone, the soprano pitch of the voice, _her_ voice, it was _all_ there. The tears spilled, and there was a sudden lightness in his chest as he cried because she was _okay_. Sasha was alive, she was fine, and he'd been beating himself up over nothing. " _Moy milyy Sasha_ ," he gasped, the breaths shuddering out of his lungs. It was hard to breathe and he could barely suck in enough breath to function properly, but it was a nice kind of pain, a relieved kind, because she was living. She wasn't dead, and there was no small, broken body laying alone with no one but another corpse in the apartment to keep her company. "You're okay? My God, you're alive! _Ya lyublyu tebya tak mnogo, nemnogo lyubvi, stol'ko_!"

A beat of silence, and then, "No, Bucky, you're wrong. I'm still very much dead. You killed me, remember?"

Just like that, the lightness in his chest began to harden again. It took him a moment to realize what exactly it was Sasha had said. _I'm still dead. You killed me, remember?_ The tears of happiness running down his face suddenly turned to tears of anger, and Bucky violently shook his head.

This was a low trick, even by Hydra's standards.

"Is this some kind of sick fucking _joke_?" he roared, not bothering to hold back his feelings. It was almost astounding, the difference between his reactions from ten minutes ago to that moment. Dominika hadn't been able to get much of a rise out of him, but as soon as they used Sasha's voice against him, the anger flared up. Even though he consciously knew it wasn't her, his emotions still came in tidal waves at the sound of her voice. "Do you people think this is _funny_? God, what the fuck am I saying? Of _course_ you do, you all get your sick kicks out of it, right? You're probably all gathered around a two way mirror just _dying_ of laughter!"

Silence immediately followed his little enraged outburst. That was almost worse somehow. If they were going to make it known that the sound of Sasha's voice was one of their tactics, they could at least take advantage of it. Of course, there was also that small, barely there part of Bucky that secretly wanted them to keep going with it, mostly just because it meant he'd be allowed to hear her voice again no matter how angry he got about it, but it wasn't like he was about to admit that. _Especially_ not to the psychopaths who had him in their custody.

Eventually, quietly, Sasha's voice inquired, "Is... is my death a _joke_ to you, Bucky? Do you hear anyone laughing about this?" A certain coldness took hold that would have never been in her real voice, and Bucky found that it was at least the tiniest bit possible to differentiate between what was fake and what was real.

"Alright, you sons of bitches, let's get one thing straight. You don't get to talk to me like you're her, you hear me? You're not. She was sweeter and kinder than any of you could ever hope to be. She was _good_ , okay? That girl was like a goddamn ray of sunshine in the middle of a monsoon or a hurricane or what the fuck _ever_ , and you took her away. Do you _get_ that? She is dead because of you in the first place, the _least_ you could do is pretend like you have some level of respect for the memory of the daughter of your deceased director and talk to me your damn selves."

The voice hummed a very Sasha-like hum and made a deliberative noise he'd heard her use once or twice. "You're right, Bucky, maybe I'm not really Alexandrea. But you know, you have to face the facts. The only reason you aren't hearing my real voice is because you killed me."

They were trying to provoke him, and Bucky _knew_ that, but he couldn't stop himself from debating. "How _dare_ you? I made a deal for her life, I tried to save her from you people. It was my mistake for thinking that your head agent's word was worth anything, but I am not the one who pulled the trigger. That was _Dominika_."

"Technically, yes, but you may as well have held that gun to my head, Bucky. Why didn't you try harder? There were other ways."

"I did my best for her!" Bucky screamed. An internal line was about to be crossed, and Bucky knew he needed to calm down. Those agents that were undoubtedly watching him fed off of this kind of shit; it was their sadistic tactic set in motion. Responding in the way he was doing, raw and emotional, would only provoke them further, which would be detrimental to his mental state. Sasha and her voice were only stage one of the game. If they managed to take him far enough, they would progress to stage two. Unfortunately, he just couldn't help himself. "No matter what I did, you people would have shot her anyway! You think I don't know that?"

A harsh laugh came from the voice, and that was yet another sound he'd never actually heard Sasha make, but had no doubts that it was what it would have sounded like if it had been her in reality. "To be frank, there seem to be a lot of things you don't know, especially when it comes to me or our relationship. You didn't care enough to try to, and that's where it came down to my death. If you'd have known, if you'd have noticed anything, you would have tried harder, but I digress."

"You don't have the _option_ to digress," Bucky snapped. He let his eyes roam the room, attempting to pinpoint the source of the noise. Not that he'd be able to do much about it, but it would allow him to feel more secure in that she wasn't there. He knew she wasn't, of course. They'd confirmed that much. Her voice felt real, though, and the feelings it provoked were certainly real. "What do you mean there were things I didn't know about her and our relationship? I knew that girl inside and out; I _loved_ her. You people are clearly getting at something, so what is it?"

The voice - he refused to think of it as Sasha's, because it wasn't - grew small, making it sound as though the situation was not necessarily something it enjoyed, but was important nonetheless. "Let me make this very simple for you, okay? Do you remember how many people died in that apartment?"

What, were they trying to appeal to his logic through an improvisational math class? That wasn't going to work out in anyone's favor, not when it came to counting corpses. Against his better judgement, Bucky decided to humor the voice. "Including Alexandrea? Two. The first to die was that poor young man that Dominika so carelessly slaughtered to make an example of him. She killed Alexandrea next."

The voice whispered softly, "You're wrong. There was another person who died that night."

Bucky shrugged. "The question was how many people died in the apartment, not how many died in general. The civilians you must have taken out in the lobby to get up the stairs the way you did don't count. Either clarify your words next time or re-educated yourselves, and stop wasting my time." Big words for someone at the insulted's mercy, but everything Bucky had to live for was pretty much already gone. There was nothing left for them to take from him, not really.

At least, that was what he'd thought.

"No, Bucky, you're not listening to me. Three people died in that apartment, that's what I'm telling you right now. That boy was one of them, true, and so was I, but there was still one more." Amazingly, the voice almost sounded close to tears. "Somebody else died, too. There was someone else."

At that moment, he decided he didn't want to know. If his perception had been incorrect, if he'd missed something, then what that voice was about to tell him was going to be too much for him to handle. Something had escaped his notice, and it would be better for him not to discover what it was.

What could it have been, though? His senses were the best of anyone's, honestly. There had been a total of four shots in the apartment; one for the young man, three for Sasha. Two bodies had fallen. One pool of blood, and two bodies thumping to the ground. That was everything he could recall when it came to anything to do with bodily harm. Bucky was so sure he was right, so what the hell could that voice have been getting at?

If he really wanted to know, he'd have to ask.

Sighing and rolling his eyes, Bucky took a deep breath and went with it. "Who, then?" In an attempt to brace himself for the worst possible answer, Bucky slid his eyes shut. As a result of this concentration, he slipped up for just a moment and addressed the voice as though he were speaking to Sasha herself. "Other than you and that boy, who else died?"

There was silence, and then a breath, his breath.

An inhale.

An exhale.

Another repetition of the cycle.

Another-

"Our baby."


	23. Love Me Lights Out

"It isn't _possible_ ," Bucky growled, struggling in his restraints. If he could have lifted a hand to smack the tray of food from Dominika's grasp, he would have. That godforsaken voice had tried convincing Bucky that Sasha had died pregnant two nights ago. Or, what served as two nights for him. In all actuality, Bucky had no idea _what_ time of the day it was, and the only way he could judge any semblance of time was by counting another day passed whenever he woke up. "You're all fucking _liars_."

Dominika shrugged and settled down into the chair that was still across from Bucky's, resting the tray on her legs. Glancing down for a split second, Bucky found that it contained reasonably regular food: a sandwich, some salad, a few crackers, and even a glass of apple juice. There was a small paper bag as well, but he wasn't sure what it contained. Definitely not the type of food they should have been giving a prisoner. "We don't have time for that right now, and I'm not here to talk about it with you. That's between you and her. All I'm here for is to make sure you're fed."

Bucky scoffed. "Right, like I'm going to do what you ask me to. First of all, I'm not eating _shit_ from you people! For all I know, it could be-"

"Drugged, yeah, probably, but what else were you expecting?" the small blonde interrupted him.

He continued as if nothing happened, even though he knew she had a point. "Second of all, you're out of your fucking mind if you think we're _not_ talking about this. You people tried to convince me she was pregnant, don't give me any contact with a real person for what I'm guessing was a full day, and then when they finally send you in, you think I'm not gonna demand anything from you? That's not how this shit works, okay? If you're gonna torture me, at least do it _right_."

It was amazing how ludicrous that statement must have sounded, but Bucky had meant it. In the back of his mind, he secretly wanted them to come at him harder, because it would have been predictable and he'd have been able to settle into their tactics comfortably. _Scars_ he knew; _physical pain_ he could handle. Being taunted with the possibility that he may or may not have been a father, though, and not being able to prove or disprove that theory while hearing the voice of his dead love? He'd have much preferred losing another limb.

Picking up the cup filled with apple juice, Dominika raised it a little, bringing attention to it with a nod of her head. "We'll compromise, then. If you eat, I'll tell you what I know. Despite what you might think, I do care about how your health is handled."

"Why should you? I'm just as disposable to you as Alexandrea was, am I not?" Even saying her name was like acid in his mouth.

Seeing that he wasn't going to accept the apple juice but that he also wasn't going to coldly shut her out the way he'd been doing - not if it meant he wouldn't get answers - Dominika placed the cup back down and offered a shrug. "No, not _quite_ as disposable. See, you're the most successful trial out of all of them. To lose you is to lose my most valuable asset. True, I could train another, but that would take time I don't quite have."

That was... confusing, at best, but Bucky decided to ignore the baiting comments and go for what he actually wanted to converse about instead. "Alexandrea wasn't pregnant."

Apparently accepting that Bucky's mind was on a one track train of thought, Dominika switched from her previous topic to the one Bucky proposed. "As much as I hate to say it, you don't know that. She was, James, she just didn't tell you."

The satisfaction that sounded in her voice at his apparent ignorance was disgusting. Bucky wanted to hit her for it. "What, and she told you? I think that's a little bit backwards, don't you?"

The blue of Dominika's irises flashed in the darkness and Bucky couldn't help but wonder if he'd never gotten the same look in his own eyes. "You'd be surprised what girls tell their best friends in bathrooms. About two weeks ago, after what I believe Alexandrea said was the - what, the third time you two slept together? - she mentioned how her period was late."

Sincerity. That was all he could hear. The speech he was listening to now was genuine, there wasn't much variation to the pitch of her voice, and Bucky couldn't find anything in her facial expression that said anything against her. Now, that wasn't to say that Dominika had no chance at being a skilled liar; her time in the Red Room, having been mentored personally by Bucky himself, and her high status in Hydra all but marked her as one of the best. However, Bucky would have liked to think that his skill in detecting lies was greater.

"It's not uncommon for girls to be late on their periods," Bucky remarked. Not only did he have the basic knowledge, but he'd also had to sit in his room plenty of times back in the thirties listening to his mother explain the sciences of the female body to Rosemarie. Of course, he would always try not to and would, for Rosemarie's sake, pretend not to have heard a word, but the walls of his family's home had essentially been paper thin.

"You're right, it's not. And because of Alexandrea's history with anxiety and stress, it's not like it was unusual for her to miss her period every now and then. Actually, that's exactly what she'd chalked it up to." Which made sense. Sasha had just gotten done with her showcase by that time which had been a great deal of stress, and she'd been doing her damnedest to convince Bucky that contacting Steve was a good idea. In all honesty, she'd been under a considerable amount of stress; Bucky himself had seen it. "But I also knew that you two had been a little... _careless_ when it came to your first couple of times together, so I knew the pregnancy was a possibility. I had her buy a test."

It was hard not to yell out his next words, but Bucky managed - barely. The thoughts running through his mind, stabbing at him with their harshness, only brought on the worst for him to feel. So normally strong, he hated how frequently he gained tears in his eyes while kept in Hydra's captivity. " _You_ had her take that test," he snarled, shaking his head and blinking back the tears. Despite the fact that they were there, Bucky knew he must remain in the state he was in, so close to the edge but not quite there, and keep them from falling. If they fell, then Bucky wouldn't have the strength to counter their game anymore; they would win. "I'm sure this confession or whatever you want to call it was meant to gain my approval or understanding, but you just gave yourself away. You shot Alexandrea while she was _pregnant_ , you shot my baby _knowing_ it was there. I haven't had an ounce of sympathy for you in my body since finding out that you're a _fucking liar,_ but if I had, all of it would have been gone now. Congratulations."

Bucky's mind was still reeling from all of the news he'd been given. Two days since he'd found out about Sasha's pregnancy, two since he'd last heard the weaponized version of her voice Hydra had to use against him, two _seconds_ since Dominika had given him more information to intentionally harm him, and _one_ since the last time he'd wanted to bash her head in. How was he supposed to function in that situation? Everything they could possibly throw his way, they were. He needed to get out, and as quickly as he possibly could. If he waited any longer, he might fall prey to a choice made while not in his right mind.

Outside of his mind, before him, Dominika shrugged, although her face did soften a touch. "I _am_ sorry about that. I've got a rule about children, usually; if I don't have to harm them, I won't." _Of course_ that rule would exclude no child aside from Bucky's own. "Yours just became collateral damage, that's all there is to it. It's nothing either of us could've changed."

"I mean, I'm pretty sure you didn't have to shoot to kill, or shoot _at all_ , but that might've just been me."

Dominika shook her head. Her facial expression clearly demanded an end to the discussion of the particular topic. "I did what I had to do to complete my mission. That's something you taught me, too."

Jesus Christ, if he had to hear about how he was her _renowned_ mentor one more _goddamned_ time. "I was fucking _brainwashed_ , you psycho! Literally discount _anything_ I said to you during that time, that's what any person in their right mind would do. I was _emotionless_ ; do you get that? I didn't feel anything. For _anyone_. That little crush you seem to have harbored for me, _that_ was unrequited." At least with _that_ he'd get a rise out of her.

As Bucky had suspected, Dominika froze very suddenly in her seat. Out of his peripheral, Bucky could see her knuckles turning white as her fists very tightly clenched the tray the food that was meant for him was on.

 _Check mate_.

Slowly, Dominika's eyebrows arched, and Bucky allowed himself the satisfaction of being glad that he was the cause. "Crush?" The word tumbled swiftly from her mouth, dangerously low. It didn't matter, not really; there wasn't much left in her power that could be used to hurt him, and she'd already employed her most shocking efforts.

That was why, with a gleefully cruel smile, Bucky met her eyes without any hesitance and took pure joy in delivering his next few lines. "Yes, Miss Kazakov, a crush. I might not have memories of teaching you or how we interacted with each other at the time, because it seems that Hydra did a _very_ good job at taking those away, but honestly? I don't need them. It's written in your actions, the way you spoke about and to me when you were still Nova, and the way you speak to me now. I was surprised when I first realized; now it just makes sense."

Truly, it was amazing how much he could enjoy something when the only real thing that gave him happiness since regaining his memories had been ripped from him, but at the same time it wasn't. Sasha had been his light source, his tender side and his empathy. She'd been good and kind to him, and had passed those traits on so that Bucky could take them for his own. Still, he also knew that were she there, _truly_ there, she would tell him not to hesitate in causing Dominika pain.

Sasha had been his light source, but she had been _far_ from an angel. Perhaps that was what he'd liked best about her.

Without allowing Dominika to get in a response, Bucky continued. "You were jealous of her, just as you were of Natalia; I see that now. I loved her, and not you, and when you found out that she and I were seriously on the path to becoming a couple, you orchestrated that whole knife fiasco; you terrorized a young girl and put her out of school and regular life for _weeks_ to send me a warning anonymously. Funny thing is, that almost worked out, and you would've been able to go on with the two of us quietly." He could recall how close he'd been to leaving town for Sasha's benefit, and could remember how horribly torn up she'd been over it. It had been the same day they'd shared their first kiss, and Bucky could still feel the heat of Sasha's cheek underneath his hand. "Unfortunately for you, Alexandrea was a very persistent girl."

"From what I understand," Nova snapped, "you weren't exactly the best at fighting her advances, either. If you had just left like you were _supposed_ to, we wouldn't even be in this situation. You brought us here, James, don't you dare forget that."

Bucky shrugged. "Maybe. Or, maybe it was your spite. Maybe it was the fact that you couldn't handle the girl you'd been guarding and keeping tabs on for so long was the one getting the happy ending with the man you yourself once wanted. Don't deny it," he added, upon seeing the look on her face, "there's no shame in it. I was, am, and continue to be an attractive man. It's okay to want things, although I'm sure Hydra's done its best to stamp that out of you. Plus, I mean, you're Russian. So."

The genuine look of incredulousness made Bucky want to die of laughter. "A bit full of ourselves, are we?"

"Not nearly full enough."

Very suddenly, Dominika threw the tray of food to the ground, causing everything to clatter and the apple juice to splash both of them. Bucky didn't care either way, but he figured someone like her wouldn't enjoy getting very messy. However, from the extremely hostile, unhinged expression placed on her face, it seemed as though she wasn't really registering the mess or _anything_ aside from Bucky's taunts. She stood, purposely regulating her breath, which meant Bucky had succeeded in his goal of riling her. "If you aren't interested in eating, then we can skip this meal. I'm sure I shouldn't keep Miss Pierce from speaking with you any longer."

_Miss Pierce._

They kept _calling_ her that.

"Her last name was Jamison," Bucky stated coolly. They couldn't know how much their use of her true maiden name bothered him, otherwise they'd hold it over his head. "Alexander Pierce didn't want her. That was his mistake."

Dominika rolled her eyes. "See, that's where you're wrong. He grieved the fact that he could never know his daughter. He saw that she was strong and he was hoping that she could lead us one day. Personally, I thought he was full of it when it came to that one, but the fact of the matter is, they're both dead now. It doesn't matter anymore."

She left, then, abruptly turning and strutting to the door, refusing to spare him a backwards glance. As if he wanted that. _Good riddance_ , he thought. This time around, though, it felt that there was something he should be fearing in the empty air.

And then _her_ voice began again.

\--

"Daddy!" Eliana squealed, giggles echoing throughout the air as she waddled over to him through the grass. The tulle of her blue tutu bounced in the light breeze, along with the loose curls she'd inherited from her mother. "Look what Mama taught me!"

Bucky sat up from the position he'd been in on his back, blinking against the sun to get a better look at the little girl. Not far from where they were, Sasha stood extending her limbs and gracefully bending, practicing and perfecting whichever routine it was that she was currently working on. The similarities between the two, his wife and child, always amazed him, and he couldn't help but wonder if Sasha hadn't looked the same as Eliana at four years old. "I'm watching, baby girl. What is it?"

His daughter stopped before him clumsily, another trait she shared with her mother, and proudly raised her arms while pointing her chin up to the sky. "This one is first position," Eliana explained, placing the backs of her heels together and bending her knees to do so completely. Then, after a moment or two, she used her left leg to further her stance and repositioned her arms to extend out on either side of her. "And this is second!"

Eliana kept going through the motions until she'd reached fifth. The proud look on her face was totally heartwarming, and she had the refreshing air of a child who believed they'd just done something perfectly. If Bucky was being truthful, he couldn't see much of a difference between her third and fifth positions aside from her arms, but he'd be damned if he was going to point that out.

Instead, he made a loud sound of disbelief and reached both his hands out to cradle Eliana in his arms. "That was _so_ good, _moya doch'_ ," Bucky told her. Technically he was being honest; for a four year old who had no clue about the basic ballet positions and had just learned them from her somewhat distracted mother, her stances were fine.

The look of concentration that resulted in Eliana's face made him laugh a bit to himself, and he chuckled further when it lightened and she responded with, " _Spasiba_!" He hadn't seen the need to teach his daughter Russian, but she'd heard the foreign language coming from his mouth one too many times and had decided that she needed to be able to understand everything that Bucky said. He'd begun teaching her about a month after she'd turned four, and was pleasantly surprised that words like 'thank you' were the ones that were sticking.

"Mama!" Eliana suddenly called, beaming over at Sasha and turning while keeping her hand in Bucky's. "Come watch me with Daddy!"

Although Sasha seemed to be in the middle of rehearsing a very intense routine, she immediately stopped the motions she was running through and let her feet rest flat on the ground a moment before flipping her braid over her shoulder and making her way to the two of them. A happy little smile appeared on Sasha's face, and Bucky was reminded of how willing his wife was to drop everything for their daughter. It was easy enough for him to recognize; he felt the same way for his family.

Before kneeling to be at Eliana's eye level, Sasha stood on the tips of her toes to press a kiss to Bucky's mouth. She'd meant to keep it light, she always did, but Bucky wasn't one for doing something half way; he never had been. When he pressed the kiss onward and let go of Eliana's hand to use both his arms to lift Sasha and spin her around, she made a surprised sound of protest, but Bucky could feel her smiling. "Our daughter is literally _right_ there," she giggled, a happy sigh escaping her mouth.

Bucky rolled his eyes, keeping his arms locked around Sasha but tilting his head to meet Eliana's gaze. "You think this is cute, right? You're into this lovey dovey stuff."

Eliana clapped her hands and nodded her head vigorously. "Super duper cute, Daddy! You're like Mama's prince, 'member? And she's your damsel!"

"Oh, _shi_ -" The only thing that kept the profanity from completely escaping him was the sharp look Sasha threw his way. Instead, he corrected himself. "Sheesh. Sheesh? Yeah."

"Not a damsel, baby girl," Sasha continued for him, stepping away from Bucky and looking fondly at their daughter. "You don't have to be somebody's damsel, okay?"

"Okay, Mama. Will you and Daddy watch me do my positions now?"

"Of course."

Sasha and Bucky sat in the grass as Eliana began again, and Sasha leaned her head against Bucky's shoulder, leaning in to press her lips against his neck when Eliana couldn't see and quickly moving away. "I love you so much, okay? I do. And I always will. Thank you for giving me such a beautiful life."

Bucky smiled fondly, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. "I love you too, little love. I love you, too."

\--

The tears came easily after that, and they weren't just tears. They were calls of desperation, of begging and pleading for the torture of the voice to stop; he couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't listen to her voice. They'd beaten him, and he was ready to submit.

"Can't you imagine what that would be like?" her voice asked, a sinister edge to it. "A regular day like that? Can't you just see it?"

 _Of course_ he could; it was all he'd ever wanted, really. A normal family, a wife to love and a child of his own. It was amazing, almost, how they'd known to make him imagine a daughter. Bucky would have loved a son just as much, but he'd always wanted a daughter. And to have had a daughter with Sasha... That would have completed his life. He would have had everything he needed in life, and it would have been simple from there on out.

It would have been one thing to have that scenario implanted in his mind by Dominika or one of the other Hydra agents. The thoughts would have been easy to ignore, he wouldn't have had to picture his four year old daughter or his wife or anything like that. They must have known that too, that was why they kept employing Sasha's voice.

 _Wife_. The word ran through his mind, over and over again, turning his thoughts inside and out and becoming the only thing Bucky could concentrate on. Would they have gotten to that point if there hadn't been any interference? Would Bucky have gotten down on one knee and proposed to Sasha, knowing in his heart that she was all he could ever want? He'd loved her enough for that, surely. If they'd been left to themselves, it would only have been a matter of time. They could have been married. They could have spent the rest of their lives together and had a child.

They could have been happy.

Whatever Hydra's goal had been, they'd managed to accomplish it. Bucky couldn't stand any more of what they were doing to him, not if they were going to use Sasha's voice against him. He'd done his best to hold out in respect of her memory, but she'd had no idea of what they had to throw at him; neither of them could have known. It was time to give in, to bend himself to their will again.

It would be easier that way.

" _Stop_ ," Bucky pleaded, shaking his head and trying to twist his neck to wipe the tears off on his shoulder. They burned badly, and though he was sure he deserved the slight annoyance, he wanted to at least surrender with some form of dignity. "Just... _Please_. I can't _do_ this anymore."

"I can take the pain away," her voice whispered, urgent and almost excited. Of course; it seemed Hydra was about to get exactly what they wanted. "All you have to do is say you want it. You'll never have to think about me again; me, or our baby. You won't even be able to remember what happened, and it'll be like I never existed. That's what you want, isn't it? Not to feel the loss of me?" With all his heart, that was _exactly_ what he wanted. "They can make it happen, Bucky. Don't you want that?"

More burning tears slid down his face. It felt as though he were betraying their entire relationship when he responded with, "Yes. Just, please, just take it away. I'll let you do it, just send in the agents. _Please_."

Sasha's voice rang clearly, like a bell, "I love you, Bucky."

Taking a deep breath, Bucky closed his eyes. That was it, then. "I love you too, Alexandrea. That's why I need to forget you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you guys know, I actually teared up once or twice while writing this one. Poor Bucky :( Gah, it kills me to make his life sad like this, but it's a necessary evil, I promise! Thanks for all the support, guys! It really means a lot!


	24. Is This More Than You Bargained For Yet?

When she woke up the first time, it was to pain. Not everything she knew she was going to feel later, not all at once, but more than she'd ever been able to recall having.

For one thing, something had seriously messed up her head. No, wait. It hadn't been some _thing_ , rather than some _one_. A man? It didn't matter. All she knew was that if she tried to open her eyes, she'd be blinded and the sharpness digging into her skull would increase by tenfold. Somebody had to be stabbing her or something, had to be doing this to her in the moment. It hurt too badly to be the aftermath of... something? What had happened?

Her head, unfortunately, was not the only part that hurt. Farther down, past her torso and coming to a concentrated area in her thigh was a whole patch of fire. _That_ injury she remembered perfectly; a gunshot, it had been. They'd shot her... she didn't remember why. They'd shot her, but not before she'd gotten off two shots of her own. At least she had that to be proud of. Despite the fact that she couldn't immediately remember why she'd had to shoot a gun past the fact that there had been danger and her life was on the line, she could be proud. Of course, she'd been hit directly after that, but it could be disregarded for a small amount of time.

She tried to open her eyes again, but to no avail. Her eyelids were too heavy, like bags filled with sand, and she couldn't remember how to fight past that. It scared her, really, being unable to take care of one of the most basic bodily functions, and led her to ask herself the question: how badly had she truly been hurt?

The answer evaded her. Something bad had gone down, something had caused her the worst pain she'd ever felt and she knew that what she experienced in that moment wouldn't be the worst to come. That revelation terrified her, and that, paired with the fear that came because she couldn't regain her sight or remember what had happened to her completely made her afraid. So, _so_ afraid. That was why she took advantage of the fact that she could at least open her mouth.

Screaming was comforting, in a way. It filled the silence of wherever she was and felt like one of the most natural things in the world. Screaming was familiar; screaming was _okay_. The action may not have been productive in any way, but it felt nice, and that was all she cared about. She was getting the feeling that once she came back to herself, she wouldn't have the luxury of feeling nice for a long, long time. It would be best to take advantage of that while she still could.

It isn't really clear to her how long her screams are allowed to go on, but one moment she was going at it so hard it felt as though her lungs would give out, and the next there were foreign hands on her body. They were probably meant to soothe her, as they were touching her arms gently, trying to shake her into full consciousness and comfort her; looking back on it, she realized that was exactly what they'd been trying to do. At the time, though, she would have none of it. Her screams only grew louder, and she wasn't sure whether she was upset about the fact that she could no longer stop or because something in her life had gone wrong enough to bring her to that point.

Distantly, she recognized the voice that was asking - no, _begging_ her to calm down, if only just a little. She wanted to listen to that voice, to stop screaming and find out who it was, but something appeared to have broken in her mind for the time being, and her body was no longer her own to command. Not long after that, she felt the prick of a needle somewhere she wasn't quite sure of on her body and almost immediately began fading out again.

Death would have been better, really. At least in death she wouldn't have had to worry about the state she'd be in when she finally managed to wake up. It would have been easier; it would have been peaceful. There wouldn't have been pain, or regret, or fright. But this wasn't that, and she knew it as sure as she had existed up until that point.

Death wouldn't have hurt her as badly as she was hurting in that moment. That, at least, Bucky had been right about.

\--

"Is she awake?"

"Her eyes aren't open, are they?"

"Well, you never know, she might just want to take a few seconds before actually opening them. I'm like that in the morning."

"No, you're not. You'll wake up and want to take a few _hours_ before opening them; I should know, I share a bed with you."

"Touché. Stark?"

"Well, Vent King, I'm a little busy checking her vitals right now. Why don't you _ask_ her if she's awake, see how far you get?"

"Listen, smart ass, you're not even _checking_ her vitals. You're staring at screens. _Jarvis_ is checking her vitals. If you're gonna be a pretentious jerk, at least have the decency to be a pretentious jerk who doesn't lie about things."

Andrea managed to blink her eyes open after that, sparing herself from having to listen to that conversation go any further. She was groggy, her body hurt, and she was unaware of where she was at the moment, or even how long she'd been unconscious. Normally she enjoyed listening to the type of banter that had been taking place, or even joining in on it, but finally waking up from what may or may not have been a coma meant that she didn't have any time for that. She wanted answers.

Doing a mental self check, she went over her body and tried to figure out at what points she was going to have the most difficulty functioning with. Which, in truth, was strange. It almost seemed that something had toned it all down. While her head should have felt about ready to explode, as she could recall it being slammed several times against some pretty hard stuff, it felt oddly... fine? Where was the headache? Where was the light sensitivity her eyes should be experiencing?

There was also the very mild, extremely faint dull ache in her right thigh that she _knew_ should have felt like a full on fire. A bullet had been placed in her leg; she remembered it, and also remembered blacking out from the pain. All she had in her immediate memory was that, for whatever reason, she'd had to pick up a gun and fire off two rounds (despite not even having the _faintest idea_ about how guns worked) before having one aimed and fired at her.

It was only natural that the fact that she couldn't remember _any of it_ drove her insane. All she had to go off of was a deep dark sense of betrayal and anxiety.

"Where am I?" she asked to the room before her, unsure of who she was speaking to or how many people were actually in the room. At least, that's what she tried to ask; her jaw felt heavy, and the lethargic state she was in made it difficult to speak, causing her words to slur together.

That meant drugs, and whatever painkillers these people had her on had to be damn good ones, because Andrea couldn't _feel_ anything.

The playful chatter stopped and the people in the room with her fell silent. Huh. She couldn't have claimed to have ever had that effect on people before.

"Oh, _shit_ , she _is_ awake," one of the voices remarked. They'd been waiting for her, then.

Doing her best to use her arms without her muscles giving out, Andrea attempted to get her torso off the bed and sit up against the wall. It was hard and she was shaking pretty badly, but it wasn't absurdly taxing or anything like that. Thankfully, she could finally see the room before her and just who it was that she was dealing with. Then again, perhaps _they_ were the ones dealing with _her_. It was just a bit daunting either way she looked at it.

Upon minimal surveillance, Andrea found that she was in an amazingly large room, laying in a bed and hooked up to various machines with liquid running through tubes connecting to her veins. This prompted her to believe that she was back in the hospital with no memory of what had happened to her for the second time in a row, but further inspection found that where she was was pretty much the furthest thing from a hospital that she could imagine. Gigantic picture windows lined the wall furthest from her bed, granting a clear shot of the Manhattan skyline. All around, scattered on tables and work benches, were various pieces of technology that seemed too complex for Andrea to understand. Metal work and tools were _everywhere_.

God, where _was_ she?

Three people stood across from where she was sitting up, two men and a woman. At first it took a second or two for her to place their faces, and the only reasonable excuse for her delay in reaction could be her head injury. Although they weren't dressed in their combat clothing and were actually all in their pajamas, they should have been instantly recognizable. These people were practically her _heroes_ , after all.

"Clint," Natasha Romanov murmured, stepping forward and clasping her hands together in front of her torso. The woman's eyes never left Andrea, and despite her being shorter than both the men she was accompanied by, that didn't take away from how naturally she seemed to command people. Andrea found herself thinking that she would quite literally throw herself to the ground if the somewhat intimidating redhead told her to. "Why don't you go and get Steve, yeah? I'm sure he'd be happy to know she's awake."

Clint - Andrea was in the same room as freaking _Hawkeye_ \- nodded, stepped forward, and cupped the side of Natasha's face before kissing her cheek. "You got it," he mumbled. Then he left, having to cross to the left side of the room and exit through the door after walking up a step or two.

This left Andrea alone in a room with both Natasha Romanov _and_ Tony Stark, who'd been the other man standing with Natasha and Clint. Meeting the guy who could afford sending her to college was definitely going to be a bit of a shell shock for her; she'd never actually expected to have the chance. Subconsciously, she found herself wondering if his personality was as flippant and snarky as everyone painted it to be. Standing with Natasha, he didn't seem to be, but if there was one thing she'd learned, it was to never judge a book by its cover.

The two of them both came closer to the bed and stood as close to Andrea as social norms dictated was acceptable when it came to speaking with a stranger. Andrea got the distinct feeling that they were just trying not to freak her out.

"Hey," Natasha greeted her softly, offering Andrea a small, friendly smile. Andrea had spent enough time in the first few months of her friendship with Bucky to recognize that particular gesture for what it really was: a mark of non-hostility. It was something she'd had to offer Bucky to communicate that she really was as harmless as she appeared, and that she wasn't going to surprise him with a knife to his throat or anything. That meant that whatever it was Natasha saw while looking at Andrea in the analytical way she was, she saw something paranoid and afraid. "My name is Natasha Romanov. Are you okay to speak?"

Maybe not without completely embarrassing herself and running her words together through her fatigue, but Andrea answered Natasha nonetheless with, "Yeah, I think so."

"Oh, good," Tony let out, stance automatically becoming more relaxed. "You mind if I sit, then? Formalities freak me out."

Without hesitation, Natasha elbowed Tony in the side, most likely assuming he was just being his typically aloof self; Andrea didn't take it that way. Even though the request might have seemed as though it were for Tony's benefit, she knew it was really for her own. He was trying to make her more comfortable, to decrease the awkwardness she faced, because really? Waking up in some weird kind of penthouse, connected to heart monitors and drug dispensers with a fragmented memory of the event that had brought her there was _awkward_. Horribly so.

"I don't mind," Andrea admitted, allowing her eyes to flit between Tony and Natasha. "You could both sit down, if you wanted."

Tony gave Natasha a look that said, ' _See?_ ' and sat on the end of Andrea's bed, gently giving her legs a familiarizing pat. "I like you already."

Natasha rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, but the annoyed look she gave Tony was at least a little affectionate. Andrea noticed that she made it a point not to sit. "Can you tell us your name?" she asked, directing her gaze down to Andrea. It was more than likely that they already had that information, what with all their technology and Steve being in the building. They probably just wanted to know if Andrea's head trauma had been bad enough for her to have suffered memory loss.

She did hesitate, though. Not because she forgot what she was called, but because the events she'd gone through had left her with more than one name to claim. At last, she just shook it off and said, "Alexandrea Jamison."

Raising an eyebrow, Natasha turned her head and shared a look with Tony. Something passed between the two of them silently, both of them looking just a bit worried. "Are you sure?" Natasha inquired, turning back to Andrea looking a little concerned. "That sounded pretty hesitant."

"Yeah, I'm sure," Andrea affirmed, "it's just that..." How did she say that without sounding like a freak? "I'm not really sure if that's what I should be calling myself anymore."

Tony tilted his head, brows furrowing. "Why wouldn't you use your own name?" The question was fair and his confusion wasn't unwarranted. Honestly, Andrea was just as confused as Tony was.

"Call it an identity crisis, I guess. My last name, I..." She didn't even want to say it out loud; to identify with that name was to identify with the people who'd harmed her and the man who had preemptively fucked up her entire life. Still; the distinction had to be made until she could figure out what to identify as. "Technically, it should be Pierce. And then, you know, as far as the name Alexandrea goes, it's _way_ too close to my biological father's."

Natasha almost seemed to have been relating to Andrea's situation. It wouldn't have surprised her; being a coveted assassin trained by some pretty awful people before moving onto the side of the good guys' would do that to a person. Andrea almost felt the same way, not because she'd specifically fought for either side, but because she'd been born into a role she had no interest in and had, from Hydra's point of view, been quite literally sleeping with the enemy.

"We were told you went by Andrea," Natasha finally let out, aimlessly throwing her hands down to her side. She seemed to be at a loss for words, and judging by the look Tony was giving her, that didn't happen often. "Is that not true?"

"I mean, I did, but my-"

And there it was. The part she was missing, the part of the pain that was being held off because she couldn't figure out what she was supposed to be agonizing over.

Everything that had happened the last time she'd been conscious, from being abducted to having to watch Bucky give himself up for her sake came whirling back to her mind. Those men had ambushed her on her way to work, shattering her phone (which she'd been pretty pissed about, honestly. It was a frivolous thing to be upset over, but still) and concussing her just to be extra secure in that she wouldn't get away from them. That was where things began to get a little fuzzy; she had been taken back to her apartment and presented as leverage, her life threatened to be taken away if Bucky didn't cooperate. Andrea had tried to get him to let it go, let _her_ go, because her death would have been a much better alternative to what he had to be facing now.

That thought was like a bucket of cold water to her face. What _was_ Bucky going through now? Which tortures were they subjecting him to while they had him in their control? It wasn't difficult to guess their endgame in all of this, not with how that Jacoby man had referred to her as leverage, and not with how Nova had goaded Bucky into giving himself up to take Andrea's place; they wanted him back, to use him as their asset and take his mind away all over again. They wanted to turn him back into the Winter Soldier, take away every new scrap of individuality and defiance that he'd spent the last few months building up.

Distantly, outside of her head, she heard Natasha turn back to Tony and ask, "What's that beeping?"

"Her heart rate is increasing," Tony answered, jumping up and into a standing position, "extremely rapidly, in fact. Alexandrea-"

"We need to find him," Andrea let out in an urgent tone, hurriedly disconnecting the tube taps from her veins. She must've done it incorrectly or something; the needles sort of jerked on their way out, causing small bursts of pain and allowing blood to well up and run slowly down her arms. That would need to be disregarded for the time being. Far more important things needed to be dealt with. Colorful bursts clouded her vision, something she was sure was a side effect of the concussion, and as she threw the thin medical blanket off of her legs she finally got a grasp on just how dizzy she was, but that couldn't stop her. "He's not safe and it's my fault and we need to find him _now_!"

Unfortunately for Andrea, Tony was on her as soon as the first needle had been forcefully plucked from her vein, stopping her from doing herself anymore harm. "Alexandrea, _stop_!" he cried, genuine worry on his features. "What are you _doing_? You can't move!" Natasha stood by his side, tensed and seemingly ready to restrain Andrea if Tony needed her to.

"You don't understand," Andrea pleaded, hot tears brimming in her eyes. God, this was so not how she'd wanted her first meeting with these people to go. "We have to go to him! I don't know how long he'll be able to hold out! Please, _please_ , I _love_ him! I love him and he _needs_ me!"

"Even if we thought we could locate him," Natasha started in a calming voice, eyes meeting directly with Andrea's, "you wouldn't be able to do anything for him. You've got no training that would let us put you on the field, you have a concussion, and you were shot in the leg. Stark's medical tech might have been able to repair most of the physical damage, but you're still going to feel that pain."

Repair most of the damage? She'd have to ask about that later, when the details were higher on her list of priorities. "But he _needs_ -"

That was when Steve and Clint came striding through the door to the room, automatically crossing to where the rest of them were. Upon seeing the stances of Natasha and Tony, Steve immediately questioned them with, "What's going on?"

"Steve!" Andrea cried, batting at the tears tracing their ways down her cheeks. If anyone would understand her issue, it would be Steve. "Steve, Bucky's in trouble! They're going to wipe his mind again!"

Everyone seemed to at least hesitate at that. _Good_. Maybe now they'd take her seriously.

Then, to her shock, Steve nodded and responded with, "We know, it-"

" _Rogers_ ," Tony snapped, eyes shooting a pointed look Steve's way. It was sharp, clear as day, and no matter how befuddled of a state Andrea was in, she could identify it for exactly what it was: a warning. "If we don't get her heart rate down _right now_ , she's going to go into a panic attack that'll be twenty times harder to come out of. She doesn't _need_ that right now."

"None of you are _listening_ to me!" Andrea yelled, shaking her head and trying to wipe the burning tears from her face. How weak she must have looked to them, how horribly small and fragile. She knew how childish it made her appear, to be acting in the way she was, but that was beside the point; from an emotional standpoint, she had the right to lose control like that. _Everything_ had been taken from her, and it didn't just mean Bucky Barnes. It also meant one of her closest friends, someone she'd trusted for a long time; it meant her sense of trust as a _whole_ , as she would likely have to be highly selective of who she gave it to, _if_ anyone received it ever again. It claimed her identity, redefining who she was, who her parents were, and many other things she'd thought she'd had a handle on for the longest of times. It left her not knowing who she was in the world, and that was the worst possible thing anyone could have robbed her of. "You don't understand! We _have_ to get him back, I _need_ to get him back!"

Surprisingly enough, out of the four Avengers in the room, Clint was the one to step forward and take on the role of a soothing lecturer. "Hey, hey," he started, tone consoling and understanding, yet firm in its resolve. "We understand plenty, okay? I promise, we do. And trust me," he chuckled slightly, motioning to his ears, "with these babies, I hear you loud and clear." Andrea could just make out the shape of hearing aids in Clint's ears, reminding her of reading about the fact that he was deaf sometime ago. "But the fact of the matter is that right now, you're hurt pretty bad. You got shot in the leg; they were able to extract the bullet, but there was some pretty bad muscle damage."

That information called on a completely different section of Andrea's mind. She'd registered that she'd been shot in the leg, but hadn't quite managed to realize the full repercussions. Sitting there in that moment and having Clint spell it out for her made her understand that Hydra may have claimed another aspect of her life that she'd been unaware of until that moment. "My dancing," she breathed, holding a hand to her chest.

Of _course_. Not only had Hydra managed to take the people she cared about from her, but they'd also managed to take away her ability to perform the one thing that she was most passionate about in the world. If the muscles in her legs were irreparably damaged, or even just damaged enough in a way that would allow her to function but not go to extremes, then her dancing career was over. There would be no more of her dancing en pointe, or learning new interpretive routines, or anything at all; the dream she'd had for herself would have been shattered completely.

Looking up at Clint, Andrea noticed that he'd moved closer to the bed and was in the process of sitting on the edge of it next to her, and that everyone else had silently left the room in favor of quietly conversing amongst themselves in the hallway, but not quietly enough that she couldn't still hear them. It didn't matter, though. Clint's answer to the question she was about to ask him _did_. "How bad is it? Am I... Will I be able to dance again?"

There was something like brotherly concern on Clint's face, protective and compassionate, and she could see his expression softening at the worry clouding her voice. "It's hard to tell," he admitted; at least he was giving her truth. "When Steve brought you here, you were in pretty bad shape, and-"

"Why didn't he take me to a hospital?" The question managed to escape Andrea's mouth before she even registered that she'd started to ask it. It hadn't been her intention to interrupt Clint, but usually it was a person's first instinct to take an unconscious person with a bullet in their leg to the hospital. Steve's response had apparently been to draw an 'X' into the metaphorical 'other' box and bring her to what she was now confident was Stark Tower.

Despite the interruption, Clint didn't seem to mind. In fact, the man had thrown his arms up into the air and given Andrea an incredulous look. "Fucking _beats me!_ " he let out, exasperation in his tone. "You would _think_ most people would call the police or something, but _no_. Dude finds a kid passed out and half dead and decides the best course of action is to pick you up and run you back here. He didn't even hail a taxi or anything, he _ran_ you across that bridge! Can you believe that? Let me tell you, he got an _earful_ from Nat."

Andrea didn't know Clint very well, not personally, but she was quickly deciding that he was one of her favorite people that she'd ever come into contact with.

"Anyways," Clint continued, rolling his eyes at the thought of their previous topic, "Steve brought you here and everybody just about flipped their shit because we'd been hearing, like, a bunch about you from Steve and Sam because you were dating the guy who shot up D.C. that one time - _nice_ taste, by the way. I too have a thing for Russian assassins, never mind the fact that yours isn't really Russian - and we started scrambling to get you stabilized, because you were losing blood like no tomorrow. We got you a few transfusions and all, but none of us are surgeons or anything, and we figured at that point taking you to a hospital would be dangerous. So Tony called in a friend from South Korea who'd been coincidentally visiting the states. Her name's Helen Cho, she's like the best geneticist in the world. She managed to extract the bullet and patch up your tissue and muscle damage with the machine she's basically renowned for having created, but... she's pretty sure you're still gonna feel a few effects of being shot. You may or may not need some extensive physical therapy to get that back up to dance level, but she said walking shouldn't take much time."

The news was reassuring, yet also worrying. Andrea would be able to walk again, and that was fine and well, but what was she to do if she couldn't dance anymore? If she couldn't do the one thing she'd felt successful at in life? It wasn't as if she had a backup dream in place; there'd been no need for that. Stark Industries had provided her with a small miracle, and Hydra had taken that miracle and quite promptly shot it to the ground. Nova had shot _her_ to the ground.

Thinking of Nova brought along thoughts of Bucky, which made Andrea's heart clench and make a face she was sure Clint noticed. She was worried, afraid that they'd hurt him and of what they'd do to break him because she _knew_ they didn't plan on killing him. Bucky would be far too valuable to them; it was why they'd threatened her. When she'd been presented as leverage, it had been her life they bartered with, her life they threatened, never his. They'd have been wasting their time if simply killing him had been their plan, and so she automatically knew it wasn't.

This got her curious about something else, and snapping out of her head to see that Clint was analyzing her, trying to figure out what was going in her head, she met his gaze and asked shyly, "What was Steve talking about?"

Clint tilted his head, momentarily confused and caught off guard. That must not have happened to him too often. "What do you mean?"

"Just after you came back in here with him. He said, 'We know,' and was about to say something else, but then Tony cut him off because he thought I was going to have a panic attack. What was he going to say?"

There was hesitation on Clint's face, a sort of unsure expression that came when one wasn't sure whether the secret they had was theirs to withhold or not. She could see it written plainly on his face: there was something big she was missing that he thought she deserved to know, but wasn't sure if telling her would be the best idea.

"Clint, please," Andrea pleaded, eyes locking directly onto his. It was a testimony to how serious this was to her; Andrea hated eye contact and rarely found that she could make it with anyone but Bucky. The fact that she was managing it with Clint proved her genuine need to know. She wouldn't be asking if it weren't important, and she hoped that he could pick that up.

Amazingly he seemed to, and with a resigned sigh, pulled his phone out of his pocket. Confused but unwilling to interrupt him, Andrea watched as he unlocked his phone and typed a few words into it. After a moment, his fingers stopped moving. His eyes scanned Andrea's face, expression still holding that bit of skepticism. "I want you to know that this is serious," he told her, voice stern and facial expression brotherly again. It kept reminding Andrea of her own brother, and she made a mental note to call Calix at some later time to make sure that she was okay. "I'm sure you've been through a lot, but I don't know if you've truly grasped the situation you're in right now."

Andrea, in spite of the situation, couldn't help but laugh a little. "My boyfriend was quite literally forced to trade his life for mine in front of me yesterday, or two days ago, or however long I was unconscious, and the crazy ass organization my biological father left to me was responsible for that and shooting me in the leg. This is the second time I've woken up with a memory lapse in a place that I don't recognize, connected to machines filled with drugs that I'm not sure about. All because of Hydra. I understand the situation, believe me."

Apparently, that was all Clint needed to hear. "Okay," he murmured, handing the phone over to Andrea and closing his eyes as if to brace for contact with the ground before hitting it, "okay." What he'd pulled up on the phone had simply been a YouTube video, fully loaded and ready to go, prompting Andrea to turn up the volume and press play as soon as she held it in her hand.

The video was grainy, probably taken from somebody's phone in a rush. It was hard to tell what was going on at first, because there was so much noise in the background which didn't seem very relevant, but a few more moments of video revealed that the noise actually consisted of screams of terror coming from civilians. That alone should have tipped Andrea off to the fact that what she was watching should have been causing her to feel a lot more scared than she was, but those thoughts were abandoned when the camera shakily came up and around to capture an image of a man standing in a street that actually looked fairly close to one of the ones that was on the route to her apartment building in Brooklyn. He seemed to be the main focus of what was being captured.

Watching that made her heart stop just then. Everything else, her surroundings, the beeping machines in the room, Clint, even the background screaming in the video, it all faded out. All of it, if only for five or six seconds, was completely gone, leaving Andrea with nothing but the man in the video. It was almost as though everything in the world had been slowed by ten thousand percent, leaving nothing but the clip in real time, making it the only thing she was able to focus on in that moment; Andrea didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

It was crazy, how different he looked from the last time she'd seen him. The change wasn't even really there, and yet... she knew it wasn't something she was just imagining. There was something off about the way he carried himself, something rigid and ready to take any command that would make his superior officers happy. His gait wasn't the carefree and confident one of the man she'd come to love, but had instead become that of a hardened soldier, ramrod straight and lethally dangerous.

Of course, the outfit didn't do much more for her in the way of making the experience less surreal. In fact, that just estranged her from who it was she saw even further. His body was covered from head to toe in black clothing, from the pants covered with heavy duty knee pads and shin guards to the leather jacket and weapon holsters obscuring his torso but freeing his metal arm, while his feet were clad in clunky combat boots. He looked like some sort of militarized angel of death, Andrea thought. He looked _scary_.

Her Bucky. The Bucky that had laughed with her, cradled her in his arms, told her he loved her with all his heart, kissed her and sworn up and down to keep her safe from anything that could possibly do her harm, _that_ Bucky wasn't this one. This one was hard, brutal, almost predatorily savage.

This one wouldn't hesitate to rip her to shreds.

Amazingly, all of this actually _distracted_ her from the gun he carried in his hand, but once she'd glanced down and realized that there were _bodies_ lying at his feet and riddled with bullets, she became hyper aware. There was a gun in his hands and bodies on the ground, and that meant that Hydra was once again using him for the one thing he dreaded most: killing.

In fact, Bucky had raised his gun and begun aiming it at another person, one out of the phone's line of sight, and had just cocked his gun when the civilian taking the video actually got up enough courage to yell at him. Andrea admired the bravery, but couldn't help but cringe at what was to undoubtedly come. She wondered how bad Bucky's response would be as she watched him turn around slowly, eyes staring at the person taking the video as he reached a hand up to remove the half mask covering the bottom of his face, freeing his mouth. What he gave the camera person was the sheer look of death.

The video taker almost immediately began pleading for forgiveness, asking Bucky not to shoot them, apologizing profusely, and unashamedly crying. This didn't seem to have any effect on Bucky, who simply waited for the cries to die down before doing anything else. The person behind the camera seemed to take the hint and did their best to shut up, but sniffs could still be heard.

"You're going to deliver a message for me," Bucky stated. Hearing him talk was... not what Andrea had expected it to be like. He wasn't angry or raging or anything like that, which was shocking. Honestly? For the most part, he just sounded void of emotion, and Andrea recalled the lengthy explanation Bucky had given her about how the mind wipes worked and how emotions were the first things they robbed him of. "Tell Miss Pierce that I am coming for her." With that, Bucky aimed his gun at the ground and fired off a shot, causing the camera person to scream out in pain and collapse to the ground. It was only a second before Andrea realized that Bucky must have aimed at their legs rather than the ground.

Andrea didn't even bother paying attention to the rest of the video; not then, not after that. She couldn't feel anything aside from a not so peculiar sense of numbness in her stomach. Distantly, she could hear Clint beside her, asking if she was okay, but it would be awhile before she was capable of answering him properly.

"I'm sorry," Clint attempted to comfort her with, placing a hand on her shoulder. He felt far away; he felt like an imaginary figure. "Steve brought you here four days ago, the attack happened two days ago, and this video became viral last night. By the time we knew what had happened to Bucky, it was too late."

That couldn't have been right. What Clint was telling her, what she was hearing, _none_ of it could have been true. All of this was just some sick, twisted nightmare; that could be the only explanation. In another moment from now, Andrea would wake up from her sleep to find herself laying on her sofa, curled into Bucky's side and feeling the heat radiating off of his body. She'd tell him about the ridiculous nightmare she'd had about him being taken away from her and he would laugh, reassuring her that he wasn't going anywhere and that she wouldn't be able to get rid of him that easily. They would smile, share a kiss or five, feel lighthearted, and do everything else they normally did together. Bucky wouldn't be made to look for her by the organization who had stripped him of his individuality once again and made him their puppet; he'd be with her, softly caressing her face in the way that he did.

If she closed her eyes, she could almost believe that were true.

"There's no way," she tearfully insisted to Clint, "there's _no way_ that video's real. He... he wouldn't have let them do that to him; he would have fought it, I know he would have, he..." It couldn't have been real. It _couldn't_ have been.

"Listen, Andrea," Clint tried, voice attempting to sound comforting. It wasn't as if his voice wasn't soothing or that his hand on her shoulder didn't feel like a safety net, but there was no making what was happening any better. "I know you don't want to believe what's happened to him, but you can't pretend. This is reality."

" _No!_ " Andrea screamed. "That's _not_ true, okay? It's _not_." She felt bad for Clint; he hadn't done anything wrong and most certainly didn't deserve the tidal wave of emotions being thrown his way, but she couldn't help it. "He made me a promise, he _promised_ me he wouldn't let them make him like that again, he- He was supposed to be _okay_..."

The sobbing came on too fast for her to stop it. Why was life so _unfair_? Why couldn't they have just let her and Bucky be happy? If Hydra had just left her alone, left _them_ alone, she wouldn't be so distraught, and it would have been Bucky comforting her if she'd been upset. Although she appreciated Clint's pulling her into an embrace once the crying broke through, he wasn't Bucky. No one for the rest of her life would be Bucky, and she was going to have to live with the fact that it was her fault. And, thinking back to that video she'd just watched, not even the man she'd seen then had been Bucky. He had the same blue eyes, the same short brown hair, all of the same features her boyfriend had had, but that man _wasn't_ the one she'd fallen in love with.

Bucky Barnes was gone. The Winter Soldier had officially taken his place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are getting progressively harder to write, guys! They're definitely taking an emotional toll! Hope you enjoy this one, I know I did! I can't wait for you guys to see where I'm taking this next!


	25. Russian Roulette

Andrea was, to put it simply, at a loss. When she was younger, still in high school and dreaming of the day she would graduate and become an adult, she'd been able to pinpoint and make a list of the specific things she would have to deal with while on her own. The worries of college tuition and housing fees had been annulled by the Stark scholarship she'd been given, but that still left a few things to be dealt with.

Clothing, first of all, was a necessity, as was food. Small things like soap, toothpaste, and makeup also went a long way for her; and those were just while she was in college. When she finally graduated from there, she would need to find her own place to stay and end up with bills needing to be paid. All of that seemed easy enough to her, though, so she hadn't seen the need to freak over any of it.

Unfortunately for Andrea, her younger, more innocent and naïve self had failed to foresee the man she would come to love waltzing into her life and grasping her heart in his hands. Loving Bucky had been unexpected, unplanned. Her feelings had hit her like a bullet train, and with it had come his reciprocation, only making her current situation worse.

That seemed to be the thing about this _entire_ situation. The fact that they'd loved each other was what bit into her heart so badly, because Andrea could still _feel_ him. It happened usually when she let her guard down and wasn't paying attention to the mental dam she'd built to maintain the ability to function properly. Once it had happened while Clint had been keeping her company, trying to distract her from the bad thoughts; Andrea had dared to laugh freely and had felt the ghosts of Bucky's arms, one warm and soft and the other hard, draped loosely around her torso. Then it had happened again, when she, Steve, and Sam had been eating together in in the communal dining hall. Tony and Bruce had come to join and let them know that Thor was due back from Asgard within the next week when Andrea had felt the sensation of a metal hand down on her lower back, prompting her to freeze up for a few minutes. Really, the whole experience was just an inconvenience and managed to constantly freak her out.

Which of course meant that she would be feeling _his_ hands at the back of her neck, just barely brushing her skin while holding her hair back, instead of Natasha's. That confusion, mixing with the feelings of pain and disgust as she knelt over a toilet to throw up into, was completely overwhelming. It would also be _just_ her luck.

"You have to breathe through this," Natasha spoke softly from behind Andrea. She wouldn't have said that the other woman's tone was necessarily gentle or anything, but it was sympathetic. "That's the only thing that's going to help right now."

"You know, amazingly enough," Andrea gasped out, trying to lean her head down and over the bowl's opening. Mercifully enough, her body had decided to take a break from the vomiting fit, but she wasn't stupid enough to think that was the last of all of it. "It's actually pretty hard to take deep breaths while your body is trying to expel its own nasty ass fluids from the same end you took them in." Perhaps Natasha didn't deserve Andrea's snark, but she was pretty much passed the point of caring.

"Somebody's been hanging around Stark too much," Natasha chuckled under her breath. One of her hands left the hair she had bundled up in her grasp to give Andrea's back a couple of reassuring pats. "Don't worry; you'll only be here a few more minutes."

Andrea nodded, knowing that Natasha's words held at least a little truth to them. After a few more moments she was able to completely lift her head and take the first deep breath she'd been able to for some time. "I think it's over for now," she sighed, taking her hair back from Natasha and gathering it all over one shoulder.

"That's good, alright? That's really good. Let's get you back into your bed, yeah?"

With Natasha's help, Andrea stood and steadied herself for a few seconds. God, she _hated_ vomiting; every time it happened, blood vessels would pop in her face, leaving little specks that Calix used to make fun of by calling them blood freckles, and the action as a whole just left her feeling unsettled. After another moment or two, Andrea felt Natasha's hands loosen their grip on her arms, still hovering in case she suddenly pitched forward, and began limping over the bathroom tiles and back onto the carpeted floor in the guest room Tony had so graciously provided her with. Her leg, thankfully, had managed to strengthen itself up in the two weeks she'd been at Stark Tower to the point where she was able to walk without assistance, but not very well. It was still kind of shaky, and would probably take more than a month to get back up to par for dancing, but she wasn't complaining so long as she had the use of it.

With Natasha's aid, Andrea managed get back to the large, king sized bed covered with a blue and grey duvet, and sit down. She propped up her leg, as everyone insisted she do in her downtime, and waited for Natasha to walk around the bed and sit down next to her on the other side, scooting into the middle. Sitting there with her new friend, Andrea noticed not for the first time how uncomfortably large her new bed was; it made her feel maddeningly small. Mostly, she just felt that particular effect at night while trying to sleep, but the slight annoyance was always flitting around the back of Andrea's mind.

That was the one thing about sleeping for her lately. At night, when she closed her eyes and attempted to sleep, she felt his absence intensely, so much so that she could barely breathe. Bucky had been a constant for her night time routine since meeting him, really - he was always there, holding her and breathing lightly, his face buried in her neck or her forehead against his chest. The two of them had hardly ever separated from each other, but it seemed Andrea was destined to constantly feel his absence. She supposed it was just another thing she'd have to deal with, for the time being.

"How many times have you thrown up so far today?" Natasha asked, concern both in her voice and on her face. Something Andrea had come to know well from the redhead; since waking up that day in what she now knew to be Tony and Bruce's lab - hastily converted into a makeshift trauma center upon Andrea's surprise arrival - Natasha had seemed to take a personal responsibility for Andrea's person. Weirdly enough, it seemed that most of the others had as well, all with different claims; Tony's was that she'd been thrown into the world of S.H.I.E.L.D. and super-heroism in much the same way that he had, so he was simply looking out for her out of common sense. Steve's had been that he already considered Andrea something of a friend, _and_ that she was Bucky's girlfriend. If anything happened to her on account of his brainwashed state, Bucky would never forgive himself, which meant Steve needed to prevent that happening. Clint had said that he just generally liked her, Bruce found her to be nice company, and she wasn't really sure on Sam, but he clearly had his reasons.

Natasha, though. She had been the most adamant about not only protection, but also making Andrea feel happy, comfortable, _welcome_. It seemed that if Andrea needed something, if Andrea was unhappy about something that was in her control, Natasha would fix the problem. Already the woman was becoming the closest thing that Andrea had to a best friend.

"That was vomit session number four," Andrea groaned, carefully rolling to lay on her side and face Natasha. Most of the nausea had passed, but she'd be damned if she was going to risk session number five. "I haven't been able to keep anything down all morning."

"It's only _nine_ ," Natasha noted, a frown showcasing itself. Of course, this wasn't the first day that Andrea had begun to repeatedly throw up at early hours of the morning, which Natasha was aware of. Distractedly, she flipped a few red strands of hair over her shoulder, then looked at Andrea more intently. "Bruce ran the tests I asked him to, didn't he? What did he say?"

Having been concerned when the vomiting fits began, which would be nearly a week and a half previous, Natasha had gone over every possible cause she could think of and had insisted that they try to figure out a solution. At first, she'd been convinced that the bullet Nova had shot Andrea with had been laced with poison, but further inspection of the bullet by Tony had proven that to be false, and the blood sample Bruce had taken showed that nothing in her nervous system was amiss. Bruce had also done his best to run a few different tests, making sure that there was nothing seriously wrong with Andrea. Luckily, there hadn't been, and Andrea had been under the impression that Natasha had undoubtedly been informed of those results. Apparently, though, Bruce took doctor-patient confidentiality quite seriously.

"He did," Andrea confirmed, nodding a little to emphasize the point. "He also told me that the stress I've been under lately is the most likely cause for all this, and I think he's right. I've had really bad anxiety issues in the past, and borderline panic attacks every now and then; they take their toll, you know? The consequences are almost always physical."

Natasha, always observant and not just when it came to visual situations, narrowed her eyes and let her brows raise. "Meaning that you're still blaming yourself for what happened to Barnes." It wasn't a question; that, she made perfectly clear.

How many times had Andrea had to have this conversation with everyone? Steve, Clint, Sam. Bruce, surprisingly, had reached out to her, and Natasha did it repetitively. Really, Tony was the only one that never outright said it to her, though Andrea _knew_ Pepper was insisting that he at least try to sit her down and help see where she was at. They all meant well, Andrea knew it. Yet, the more they said to reassure her, the more Andrea felt responsible. Normally she would just brush it off, bottle up her feelings, and try to change the subject, but Andrea knew she could speak freely, even borderline snappishly, to Natasha without having to worry about alienating herself from her. In fact, Natasha seemed to encourage her speaking her mind.

Which was why that was exactly what Andrea decided to do.

"Because it's _my fault_!" Andrea let out, a lot more ferociously than she'd intended to. Bucky used to snap things at people like that, when he wasn't being careful enough to control his tone, and for a moment Andrea could see parts of him in the way she was acting now; she refused to apologize for standing up for her thoughts the way Bucky would have done. "He gave himself over because of _me_ , because they had me there to use against him and he cared too much about me. That's what got him taken in the end; it was _me_."

"Wouldn't you say that he was probably thinking along the same lines when he made that call?" Natasha prompted coolly, shifting so that her torso was supported by her elbow. From this, Andrea was forced to look up to make eye contact, because she did _not_ want to upset her stomach again. "When they dragged you back into your apartment, half unconscious and threatening your life, don't you think he was fairly certain that it was _his_ fault?"

"But, that's different! It _wasn't_ -"

"Listen, kid. I know that and so do you, but Bucky wouldn't have. His automatic response would have been to blame himself, just like you're doing now. Both of you seem to have this kind of complex where you're under the impression that whatever happens to the other is completely under your control. It wasn't. His choices were _his_ choices, do you get that? Are you _hearing_ that? Barnes _chose_ to give himself up for you. It was his _choice_. His only alternative was to let you die, but he still made his own call."

For a second, Andrea's mind flitted through several topics. The first was how eerily similar Natasha's words had sounded to something Bucky once told her. She'd been on the verge of breaking down, and he'd most likely been under the assumption that she was already freaking out at full capacity. _I choose you_ , he'd said to her, voice soft and tender to make sure she knew he was being sincere. _And because I choose you, that means I also choose the consequences that come with you._

Yeah, well. The boy had made _one hell_ of a fucking choice.

"It was _stupid_ of him," Andrea insisted, shaking her head and blinking back a few tears. Leave it to her to have fallen for the one guy who wouldn't put his own life over his girlfriend's, _even when she'd told him_ to do exactly that. Fucking _figured_. "I didn't _ask_ him to do that! I _asked_ him to let me go! Why didn't he... why didn't he just...?"

Quickly, so quickly that Andrea didn't even realize what was going _on_ , Natasha had Andrea encircled in her arms. Definitely not an action Andrea would have expected from someone like Natasha, and yet... why wouldn't she? Clint and Natasha were openly affectionate with each other. They hugged, kissed, touched, all of the couple stuff that was acceptable in public. With Steve, Natasha was generous with the amount of pats and play punches she gave, as she seemed to be with Sam as well. Natasha was _not_ without emotion; Andrea was reminded that she needed to stop stereotyping people and judging them by their covers, which was, ironically enough, something she'd done to Bucky until she'd realized how wonderful of a person he truly was.

"He wouldn't want you blaming yourself," Natasha murmured, holding Andrea's head against her shoulder. All thoughts of nausea had been forgotten. Stomach pain was nothing compared to the aching Andrea was about to feel in her chest if she didn't cut the tears before they started.

"Bucky wouldn't want me doing a lot of things, but I'm just gonna disregard that completely." It's what Bucky would have done, if their situations had been reversed. Hell, it was what he'd _managed_ to do in her absence, letting Hydra wipe his mind clean of her.

Wait.

 _Wait_.

It's what Bucky _would have done_ , if their situations had been reversed.

A week holed up in this place, trying to put herself back together. A solid week of tears and stress vomiting and deep, deep sadness. In that week, Andrea had spent most of her time feeling sorry for herself, for her situation and the fact that her body wasn't at its full capacity. More than a few times she had remained in bed or had stayed silent, hoping against hope that somehow, _maybe_ Bucky would be returned to her. A lot of her dreams had been set up like that, which was why Andrea had come to despise the waking world. If Bucky wasn't there, she didn't want it, didn't want anything to do with anything or anyone. The friends she'd made at Stark Tower were important to her, of course, and yet... they weren't him. Her mourning kept her from truly forging those new relationships.

It had also made her react to the situation in the exact way Bucky wanted her to. She was sad, yes, and very hurt, but Bucky would have assumed with enough mourning time, Andrea would be able to move on from him. He would have thought that at some point, Andrea would forget how she'd felt for him and leave his memory behind, letting him fade out of her life.

"Yeah, _nice_ try, you tricky bastard," Andrea mumbled to herself under her breath, a grudging smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. If their situations had been reversed, Bucky would have done the exact opposite of what Andrea would have wanted him to and gone out to try and save her. Why shouldn't she do the same?

"Andrea?" Natasha asked, deep confusion in her voice as she pulled away to look at the younger girl's face. That made sense, Andrea supposed. One minute she was talking about how Bucky would have defied her own wishes, and the next she was mumbling insults under her breath. "What's the matter?"

" _Bucky_ ," Andrea sighed in frustration, shaking her head. It was stupid of her, wasting her time the way she had been. He wouldn't have been doing that, had he been in her place; he would have been out the very day after she disappeared, razing hell while trying to find her. Of course, Bucky would have been a lot better at that sort of thing on account of his mercenary and assassin skills, but Andrea currently had an entire _group_ of special agents living with her. "He would be doing the exact opposite of what I'm doing now if I was the one who'd been taken. He'd be looking for me; he'd be trying to get me back. God, I'm... I'm so stupid! We need to find him!"

"Locating him isn't the problem," Natasha stated calmly, sitting up fully now. Surprisingly, she wasn't automatically shutting Andrea down the way she'd done when Andrea had first woken up. Granted, Andrea had been in the midst of a break down and needed to hear a stream of thoughts calmer than her own, but regardless. "Our problem comes when we have him with us but he's still brainwashed. Breaking him out of that wasn't exactly easy; I doubt Hydra's going to make it any better this time around."

Right. There _was_ that.

Currently, though, Andrea was desperate to dance around any tricky situations and just convince Natasha to help her. If Natasha was on board, it would be easier to get everyone else to agree to something she knew they were going to pitch a fit about. "I bet we can find something that'll work," she insisted, also sitting up and crossing her legs. The last of her earlier nausea had faded; this would hopefully be enough to keep her body from going back there for some time. "Just talking to Steve for a little while was enough the first time, right? And how did you snap Clint out of Loki's mind control?"

"Cognitive recalibration," Natasha chuckled a little. Serious situation or not, thinking of whacking Clint across the head was an amusing thought. "But I don't think that's going to work in this case. You told me how he described life as the Winter Soldier. If they're targeting his emotions, smacking him sideways isn't going to work. We'd need something stronger, something that could get inside his head-"

Natasha's mouth snapped shut very suddenly, and some very deep thoughts seemed to etch themselves on her face as they went through her mind. What her mind was processing specifically, Andrea couldn't say for sure. All she knew was what she saw, and what she saw in particular was something very specific. Perhaps the hope swelling in her chest was naively, well, _hopeful_ , but if she was really getting Natasha to help her think up a rescue mission, then that hope was damn well deserved.

"You've got an idea," Andrea prompted, squinting her eyes and begging Natasha to share the information she had with her own. "I know you do. _Please_ , Nat, what is it?"

There was hesitance in Natasha's face. It was astonishing how clearly Andrea could see Natasha deliberating back and forth mentally, deciding what she should do. All she could hope for was that Natasha's decision favored Andrea's ideas.

For the first time since waking up, Andrea felt something inside her chest, something warm and all-consuming. The last time Andrea had felt something like this... the last time had been the morning of her abduction, when she'd waken in his embrace and been kissed good morning. Over the months she hadn't realized how much she'd taken the feel of his lips for granted, and was now vowing that if she ever got him back, she would cherish every little touch he gifted her with. Memories were nice, of course, and she clung to them, but they were nothing compared to the real deal.

Finally, Natasha nodded and met Andrea's eyes again. "It's not a _what_ , exactly," she explained. Was it Andrea's imagination, or was there something almost excitedly unsure in her new friend's eyes? "More like a _who_."

\--

The blonde one, the one he answered to by 'Ma'am' but who others referred to as 'Miss Kazakova' let her hand fly back and strike him across the face. It had not been the first time the action had occurred, and he wouldn't hesitate to say that it definitely wouldn't be the last. He wasn't sure what the physical hits were meant to do to him; they didn't hurt, not really. If she wanted to inflict pain, she should have had one of the larger agents, perhaps Rumlow or Ward or even Jacoby carry out the action. If he had to guess, though, he would say that her goal was not necessarily to cause pain, rather than just take out her frustrations.

Because she _was_ frustrated, and it didn't take his analytical skill to see that. And he knew exactly what it was that was upsetting her.

"The girl had a _bullet_ in her _leg_!" she screamed at the room of agents before her. "There's no way in hell she was able to find a place secure enough to hide her from us while dealing with that!"

That sentence was something Winter Soldier had managed to deduce was false almost immediately. The girl in question, Alexandrea Pierce, seemed to have had many friends. He'd been allowed to read her file; she had a Stark scholarship funding her education, Hydra had spotted her in public with Steve Rogers on multiple occasions, and practically the whole folder had been filled with pictures and paper transcripts of conversations Alexandrea had had with someone named Bucky. If he thought too hard, Winter Soldier sometimes got it in his head that this Bucky looked like someone he knew... But he didn't know people, because things did not possess the power to know anyone, and so he let it go.

Still, Alexandrea hadn't been helpless, and especially not in the way Miss Kazakova seemed to have wanted her to be. Although he knew this was the case, he was hesitant to state that fact. Not because he was afraid to be struck again, but because of the fear of the cold room. If she got mad enough, Miss Kazakova would put him on ice, and if there was one thing that the Winter Soldier could claim to hate with all his might, it was the cryogenic chamber.

"He might've called somebody before we got there," the one named Jacoby piped up, gesturing with his chin towards the Winter Soldier. That didn't make sense to him; he hadn't been there the day Alexandrea had been shot. Why would this man accuse him of having been responsible for her disappearance. "I know I must've heard that girl swear up and down about how he was going to give us hell about a dozen times. Maybe he was calling in backup?"

"They weren't in contact with anyone that could have been useful," Miss Kazakova barked back, flipping her blonde locks over her shoulder. In times of weakness, when the Winter Soldier almost felt emotions such as anger and rage, he often imagined what it would be like to pull his superior back by the hair and cut her throat. He wasn't sure why he had those thoughts, but he didn't concern himself with them too much, because he also knew he could never act upon them. Nor would he want to.

Instead of pondering those thoughts further, Winter Soldier inclined his head just the tiniest bit, and smoothly said a few sentences in Russian which translated to, "The girl has powerful friends. She's been known to be affiliated with Tony Stark and Steven Rogers, both of whom are Avengers. She will be staying with them."

Miss Kazakova stiffened, back becoming ramrod straight. Slowly, so slowly that he could hear the small bones in her spine creak as they went, she turned to look back at him over her shoulder. The look on her face was cold and cruel, as many of the agents in this organization often made their faces look. And yet... Miss Kazakova was _smiling_ at him. He didn't understand smiles, aside from the fact that they were an indication that he would not be struck again in any time soon.

"Tell me why it is," she started slowly, back to addressing the room of agents before her. The Soldier couldn't make out each of them in the dim lighting, but his estimate was that there were at approximately fifteen of them. Only the top agents would have been tasked with locating Miss Pierce. "That a man we keep _only_ as a war weapon has enough brain power to figure out what none of you are collectively able to?"

The Winter Soldier figured that pointing out that Miss Kazakova had also been unsuccessful in deducing where it was that Alexandrea Pierce was residing would be less than beneficial to everyone in the room, and so he kept silent. Just because he has, though didn't mean that the rest of the room had seen it fit. Many gave an outburst of protest, saying things about how the Winter Soldier should not have been speaking anyways, but an icy glare from Miss Kazakova shut them all up.

"It's not important," she snapped. "What _is_ important is sending a message to Miss Pierce, and letting her know that we are ready to play. I'm about done with waiting for her to show her face." Turning back to Winter Soldier, another cruel smile erupted on the blonde woman's face. "Oh, James, if only you could see yourself now. You would _hate_ it."

The absolute glee she spoke with almost threw him off, but he brushed it aside. It was not in his nature to be blindsided and confused.

Instead, he focused on the words that came out of the woman's mouth as they detailed the plan to ensnare Miss Pierce and bring her into their custody. As the words feel from Miss Kazakova's mouth, Winter Soldier almost felt... hesitant, but remained unsure as to why? He shouldn't care about some girl he didn't know, and so he would not.

He wouldn't care about anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, this one was a little tough to write! I know where I wanna go with this story, but getting everything down in words the right way is sort of challenging at times! Hopefully I did okay with this one, though! Enjoy!


	26. Honey, It Will Come Back

Although Natasha's willingness to help Andrea go on the offensive and bring Bucky back themselves instead of waiting for him to present himself - which had been the original plan, because everyone was sure Hydra would have him turn up eventually considering the ominous promise he'd made to 'Miss Pierce' in that video - had been a surprise, Andrea was not at all caught off guard when many of the others began pitching fits. Of course, they hadn't been meant to find out in the way they did, but once the new arrivals came to the tower, it wasn't hard for the two women to be caught off guard. Especially in Andrea's case, as Natasha had insisted that the less the others had to question her on in case she slipped up and gave anything away, the better.

Still. The total shit storm the two of them had inadvertently started together didn't seem to have any foreseeable end.

As a sort of testament to how her life had been going lately, everything went down on one of the most peaceful days she'd been having in a long time. The morning was early, thanks to the fact that her sleep was still riddled with visions of Bucky and his absence on the large mattress was made ten times more noticeable thanks to its size. Still, that wasn't the only reason Andrea had woken up so early. Her body was still on her school schedule, despite the fact that it had been a little over a month since summer break had begun. Ugh. If this was how her breaks were going to be spent, she was seriously going to have to rethink those eight a.m. dancing classes.

For a moment, that train of thought gave Andrea pause. In all of the craziness she'd been through, after all of the being run down and kidnapped and having the man she truly loved taken from her so harshly, she'd nearly forgotten she was just a regular twenty year old college kid. How long ago had that really been true? Before Nova had turned out to be evil, before meeting Bucky? That had been the end of March, just before April, which was roughly four months ago. So much had happened in those four months, so much packed into one little blip on a time map. Could she even go back to college, knowing all that she did and having become a completely different person? Aside from the fact that she was _literally_ a new person with a new name she wasn't even sure she _wanted_ , Andrea didn't know if she could continue on in college the way she had been. Far too much had changed for her, and she couldn't even _think_ about school until Bucky was found and saved from his brainwashers.

And, of course, there _was_ the small fact that her leg was still barely feeling nice enough to walk on. Bruce had told her that the pain was all in her head; the machine Tony's friend Helen Cho had used to fix her leg had worked perfectly, but Bruce said she still felt pain because it's what she was using as her sole coping mechanism. Psychosomatic, Andrea believed the correct term was.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the door opened and Steve's voice came calling for her. "Andrea? You awake?"

Letting all of her internal pondering go as Steve entered her room, Andrea sat up and rubbed at her eyes. Regardless of whether she'd just been having an existential crisis, she was still tired beyond belief. "I'm not sure how different you think now is from your own time era," she started, a teasing and sleepy smile spreading across her face, "but knocking still goes a long way for people. And yeah, I'm awake; good morning."

Steve rolled his eyes and strolled over, leaning his torso against her headboard. "Good morning. Clint and I were wondering if you'd want to sit while we make breakfast? We figured you'd enjoy the company; we know we would."

The offer made Andrea grin. Clint and Steve had recently taken it upon themselves to entertain her as much as they could, whether it be chatting, watching movies, or other things they knew she would enjoy. And watching the two of them figure out the kitchen together? That was _bound_ to be damn entertaining, because Steve had a good handle on how to cook things, whereas Clint wasn't _nearly_ as skilled.

"Sounds like fun," Andrea admitted, throwing the covers from her body and carefully repositioning herself to get off the bed. "What are you guys making today?"

"French toast, bacon, all that fun stuff," Steve answered simply. Then, after another moment, his eyes widened in realization at something. Andrea wasn't sure what that meant until he began rushing forward, towards the bed. "Hey, let me help you, yeah?"

In the time Andrea had stayed at the tower, she'd managed to learn that refusing help from mainly Steve was ultimately futile. Every time she seemed to be having even the slightest of difficulty, he would be there, rushing forward to help her. It was easy enough to get his reasonings, she supposed; part of it may have been because he felt responsible for her in a brotherly way, but the other would be because she'd been involved with Bucky, and Steve didn't want anything upsetting his best friend further when he finally came back to himself. The motions were sweet, of course, and Andrea knew that Steve felt genuine affection and friendship toward her, but it was charming ninety five percent of the time and exasperating the other five regardless.

Still, she wouldn't say anything to him. Although Steve wouldn't outright admit his feelings, it was clear to her that he felt guilty about what had happened to her and Bucky. She'd gotten the feeling that that was the case, and it had only been confirmed when he'd explained that he had already been on his way to help when he'd found her in her apartment by herself. Andrea figured Steve at least deserved to feel like he was personally doing something right in his downtime.

A few moments later, after Steve had helped her hobble out of her room and to the communal kitchen, Andrea found herself sitting at the table, watching as her new friends bickered about whether or not milk was a necessary ingredient for scrambled eggs.

"Listen, man, I get that this is how you usually make them, but that's _gross_ ," Clint spoke matter of factly, purposely holding the jug of milk away from Steve. "We don't need to tarnish the beauty of the egg and cheese combo with your sacrilegious ideas."

The look on Steve's face made Andrea want to burst into laughter, but she was afraid that any outside noise would distract the boys from their argument. How long had it been since she'd heard two people genuinely bicker about something so mundane? Furthermore, who the hell argued about milk in scrambled eggs in the first place? Yeah. There was no way she was going to jeopardize getting to hear this argument through.

Steve crossed his arms, cocking his head to the side. If Andrea didn't know any better, she'd have said he was tensing his body to snatch the milk jug away from Clint and just dump as much as he could into the bowl before he was stopped. "I wouldn't go as far as saying its _sacrilegious_ ," Steve argued, rolling his eyes. "You've never complained when I put milk in your eggs before."

"You mean you've done this _more than once?_ " Clint's voice shot up a few octaves, and Andrea's resolve began to weaken. They were being so serious. Those two were having a legitimate argument about milk in eggs, or lack thereof, and it was freaking hilarious. For a moment she tried to focus on something else, particularly the view of the Manhattan skyline, but the overture of her friends' voices was far too enticing.

"See, Clint? That's my _point!_ " Steve countered with an incredulous air in his voice. "You can't even tell the difference! You're being an egg snob!"

"An... egg _snob? Excuse_ me?" Not waiting for Steve to answer, Clint turned to look at Andrea and gestured violently to the blonde at his side. "Can you believe this guy?"

Andrea wasn't one for taking sides in amusing situations like these, but she still smiled and replied with, "The nerve of some people."

Eventually they got passed that one, Steve being kind enough to forgo the milk - although Andrea was _certain_ that she saw him slip some in when Clint wasn't looking - and they moved on to the rest of breakfast. It was fun watching as they went, listening to their conversations and regularly speaking to them herself. It was times like those, so peaceful and serene, that Andrea could pretend that she was here at Stark Tower under normal circumstances. Bucky had just gone away and Andrea was staying with friends; that was all there was to the situation. Soon, Bucky would be back, visiting their friends with her, and everything would be perfect again.

Everything would be fine. More than anything, she wanted that to be true, and it would be best for her spirits if she believed that everything would be restored to order sooner rather than later.

Not long after the whole egg fiasco, Sam entered the dining room, saw Clint in an apron and Steve gesturing wildly with a metal whisk in hand, and promptly went to sit down beside Andrea. "Should I even ask?"

Andrea let out a loud giggle, squeezing her eyes shut and covering her face with her hands, unable to help a smile. "It was milk like two minutes ago, now they're arguing about French toast. They asked me to sit here so they could keep me company, but I don't even know if they remember I'm here." She paused as Clint's voice rose, yelling something about nutmeg. "I don't know, I'm pretty entertained."

Sam laughed too, though it was considerably more controlled than ones he'd sounded off in the past. "I mean, I can't say for sure." Andrea didn't miss how quickly his eyes darted away from her.

He kept doing that, lately, averting his gaze from hers, and Andrea was beginning to become concerned for him. And, honestly? He only did it around her. With everyone else he was less twitchy, more... relaxed. Of course, everyone excluding Natasha seemed to always be thinking twice about what they said in front of Andrea, but Sam's case was a little different. The way he interacted with her left her wondering what was wrong between the two of them; she couldn't think of anything obvious, because she and Sam had never had a problem with each other. And yet...

"What's the matter?" Andrea questioned him, pitching her voice low so that Steve and Clint wouldn't be able to hear over themselves.

Sam's eyes widened slightly, automatically annulling the response he'd chosen to gift her with. "What do you mean, kid?"

Should it have offended her that he was essentially belittling her ability to read people, and especially when he was being so obvious? Perhaps. But, in Andrea's current predicament, she found that she didn't have much anger left to spare. Besides, Sam didn't need her snapping at him and she didn't need him to be hesitant to admit what his problem with her was because of it.

So instead, Andrea simply smiled softly at him and said, "You do this thing, whenever I'm around. It's little, you know, you don't do it on purpose, but it's there. Don't ask me to tell you what it is because I know I won't be able to properly describe it, but I've got this distinct feeling that there's something you're not saying to me. And it's clear that you want to, but I'm guessing you might not be ready to."

To put it simply, Sam looked shocked. It was hardly appropriate for the situation and Andrea barely managed to stop herself, but she was very tempted to laugh. No one would have pegged her down as the observant sort of person she was, but being with Bucky - who had not been so forthcoming with his emotions - had made noticing and deducing these types of things a necessity. It was nice to surprise people like that sometimes, she supposed.

"Andrea," Sam began, head shaking slightly. His voice was pitched just as low as hers. "I don't-"

"You don't have to tell me right now, okay?" she interrupted, offering him a compassionate look. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it can wait. I'll still be here when you're good and ready, and I don't want you telling me a minute before."

After a moment of what seemed to be consideration, Sam let out a snort and rolled his eyes. "You are _ridiculous_ ," he told her, laughing as he sat back in his chair in defeat.

"Ridiculous, but attentive," Andrea countered, placing a friendly pat on his shoulder before withdrawing her arm again.

She would have said something else, something to lighten the mood, but Clint himself managed that part when he came racing over, scooped Andrea up into his arms faster than she could protest, and carried her across the room to deposit her in front of the stove, where he let her back on her feet. "I could have walked?" was her immediate response.

Clint shook his head and grabbed Steve's arm, pulling him closer to the conversation as Sam began to stand and cross the room to where they all were himself. "No, your gimp leg would have made you take too long, and Steve and I needed your judgement faster. Here," he paused, picking up a fork from the counter, piled it with scrambled eggs, and pushed it her way. "Eat that. I need to prove a point to Gramps here."

Andrea rolled her eyes, but accepted the eggs nonetheless. She really wasn't sure what it was they were getting out of staring at her chewing the food, but she supposed that was their deal to work with. They didn't taste bad, which definitely meant that Steve had made them. If Andrea recalled correctly, Clint was more of a baker than a cook.

"How do you like them?" Steve questioned, shaking his head and rolling his eyes as well. The look in his eyes clearly said he thought the dramatics were pointless, but he seemed amused anyway.

Lacking any other sort of answer, she was left simply to say, "They taste like eggs," and watch as the boys descended into another round of arguments as Sam attempted to intercede. At that point Andrea was wondering how the bickering hadn't woken everyone else in the tower when the doorbell rang.

Or, the metaphorical doorbell. Really, it was just Jarvis announcing the fact that the tower had non-hostile visitors and was permitting them into the building.

"We expecting anybody?" Sam questioned, glancing between Steve and Clint. Both of them looked just as confused as she and Sam, which meant that whoever was at the door was a surprise. Granted, they could have been the guest of anyone else in the tower, but she kind of got the feeling that they would have been made aware if a guest was coming early on in the day. Thor had gotten back from Asgard a couple of days ago, so that begged the question: who was waiting outside that door?

"We should probably go and wait by the elevator," Steve suggested, absentmindedly taking Andrea's arm to support her weight as he lead her and the rest of them to the elevator doors. Not five seconds later, the other two boys were following them as well, somewhat eager to see who it was Jarvis was allowing into the tower unauthorized by anyone but himself.

And that was how she found herself and Natasha in the predicament that they now were. The two of them had to sit there with the people Natasha had called, the ones she'd said would have the ability to get inside Bucky's closed off mind and had also concluded that Andrea couldn't know about, lest she give away any information to the other Avengers, and they had to listen to the lectures everyone else saw fit to give. Of course, Natasha's particular precaution was now null, thanks to her guests having arrived unannounced, but the ticked off words everyone felt the need to share with the four of them were easy enough to tune out.

Andrea let herself take a moment to peer over at the people sitting across from her, caught somewhere between gazing at them studiously and admiringly. Both were very attractive - strikingly so - and Andrea couldn't help but find something almost... inviting about them? For some reason she just couldn't seem to look away, and the male individual of the pair kept catching her gaze and making accidental eye contact for that specific reason, offering her an appraising half smirk each time he did so.

Andrea wasn't afraid to admit in the slightest that he was, well, beautiful. He was tall from what she'd seen of him when he'd walked out of the elevator, much taller than her which, if she was being honest with herself, was not exactly a hard thing to accomplish; he was also lean, his figure shown off by the long sleeved blue shirt he wore. His skin was very tan, giving Andrea the impression that he enjoyed being outdoors, and his hair was definitely interesting. The color seemed to be the result of having grown his hair out after a dye job, his roots a natural dark brown and the rest of his hair colored a pristine kind of silver. Then there were his eyes, clear and blue as water, almost the exact same shade as Bucky's. They weren't, of course, because this man wasn't Bucky...

But he _was_ a close match.

Then there was the girl sitting aside him. She was beautiful as well, of course, her features very similar to the man's save for her height. She had been a few inches shorter, and her skin was just a small amount paler, but all of the other similarities were there. Her dark hair, her crystalline blue eyes made to flash by the black dress and red jacket she wore, the full mouth and the high, prominent cheek bones made the connection impossible to miss: the two were obviously brother and sister; twins, she thought she'd heard somebody else in the room call them.

"What even were you guys trying to do with these two?" Bruce demanded of Andrea and Natasha, gesturing towards the twins. That, in particular, was a new one. The entire time she'd spent at the tower, Bruce had never been unkind to her. He didn't even seem like he meant to be unkind in that moment, and Andrea didn't understand why it was he was upset in the first place.

"We told you why we are here," the male of the two across from Andrea interjected. The velvety smoothness of her voice made her a little unsure; it sounded like maybe he was Russian, but Andrea couldn't quite tell. All she knew was that this man was constantly reminding her more and more of Bucky. With his chin, the man motioned to Natasha. " _She_ said-" He paused, then using his chin to point to Andrea "-that the little lady _there_ required my sister's assistance."

"Natasha?" Clint asked, brows furrowing. No one had to be a master psychologist to hear the concern and confusion in his voice. "What's Wanda supposed to do? Why did you call the twins here?"

So the girl's name was Wanda. At least she had one of the two named.

Natasha gave Clint a look that almost looked apologetic. Almost. "To help us," she answered simply, swiftly glancing Andrea's way. To her pleasant surprise, the redhead carefully placed her arm around Andrea's shoulders and looked back to her boyfriend. "She's suffered through her pain long enough, don't you think? And while we figure out Barnes's location, we can at least ensure we have a plan in place to recover his memories."

"You've... lost someone important to you?" The question came from the girl Clint had called Wanda; it was the first time she'd spoken directly to Andrea since arriving, the first time either of the pair had. Wanda's blue eyes locked onto Andrea, feeling as though they weren't just seeing her physical appearance, but looking much deeper inside. "Someone took his memories?"

Tony interjected before Andrea could get a word out of her mouth. "It doesn't matter, kid, the situation's way too-"

Quite literally in a flash, Wanda's brother was on his feet and standing in front of Tony, who'd settled himself onto a bar stool that had been set a little ways behind the twins and where they sat. Not a long distance, but definitely one that should have taken Wanda's brother more than half a second to cover. "Why don't you let the lady speak for herself, huh? I'm sure she's got her own words to share." With that, Wanda's brother zipped right back over to where he'd been sitting.

Okay, so, super speed. Definitely _not_ the weirdest thing Andrea had witnessed as a superpower, but it was something she'd have to get used to seeing.

"You know, Lightning McQueen," Tony grumbled, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms, "I don't think I missed you much."

"The feeling is mutual." The expression on his face, which had hardened when made to deal with Tony, softened again when he made eye contact with Andrea. She decided that if he continued to parallel Bucky's behaviors, she might actually lose her mind. "What happened to you?"

For some reason, Andrea's mind drew a blank when trying to process that question. "Um. Sorry?"

Wanda smiled a little at that and reiterated her earlier questioning. "Ah, Pietro is just wondering what I am. Your man, the one that had his memories stolen. What exactly happened to him?" And there was the second name.

Andrea took a moment to herself, unsure of what to do. Wanda and Pietro had been called here to help her, and both seemed genuinely curious about her problem, but looking out at everyone else gave her mixed reactions. Tony seemed to think this entire thing was a bad idea, made clear by the expression he wore and the tone he'd taken with Pietro. Letting her gaze drift, she saw that Sam and Steve were both watching her. Steve she knew would be supportive of whichever choice she made, but Sam seemed... was hesitant the correct word? Probably not. Then, of course, Bruce stood before her still looking upset, more with Natasha than with her, though Andrea didn't know why. Thor, who had only just been briefed on Andrea's situation when everyone freaked out about why the twins had shown up still seemed to be contemplating the whole deal, and Clint? Well, he seemed to trust that if Natasha said it was for the better, then it probably was.

Taking a chance and deciding that her predicament couldn't possibly be made any worse, Andrea looked back to Wanda. Something about the dark haired Russian (at least, she _sounded_ Russian) girl across from her made Andrea feel as though she could say anything to her. Which was weird, because Andrea had promised herself that she would be more careful with the people she trusted and should therefore have been able to resist the impulse. And yet, she felt as much confidence in the twins, looking at her so friendly and curiously, politely so, as she had when meeting Natasha, or Clint, or Steve, everyone in the tower, and even-

"Even Bucky," she whispered to herself, closing her eyes gently and taking a deep breath. His absence was beginning to weigh her down, beginning to actually suffocate her to the point where she couldn't even say his name without feeling some tinge of pain. This would help him, though, she knew it would. Talking of the events that had passed, figuring out what Wanda could do for her, it could change the whole game.

Which meant that it was time to get up and start playing correctly.

Looking back at Wanda, Andrea began her story, starting with the first day she'd met the man she desperately wished to save. She talked of how he'd saved her, how he'd helped her clean her wounds, and how he seemed to keep popping up randomly for a little while. It was only then, as she was telling the story that Andrea realized Bucky must have planned every 'incidental' run in they'd had with each other. Andrea spoke of inviting him out often, introducing him to college friends, getting to know him. The first night he'd stayed in her apartment, not wanting her to feel the pain of her mother's acidic memory. How they'd spent his birthday in the hospital because Hydra was comprised of royal bastards, how Bucky had almost lost it after she'd practically died... and then she shared how they'd become a couple. It took a long time, and halfway through she realized that _everyone_ in the room was paying attention because nobody had heard the full story, but it felt nice to get it off her chest. It felt _right_.

After Andrea ended, Pietro narrowed his eyes and nudged his sister. He must not have wanted to interrupt the story. "Wanda," he murmured, an unsure note hanging there, "James Barnes, he was... We saw him, didn't we? When we had to go through those tests with the rest of the recruits?"

"The cryo chamber, yes," Wanda affirmed. They'd seen Bucky the first time he'd been the Winter Soldier. "I remember asking about the man in the box," Wanda explained towards Andrea at what must have been a questioning look, "and they said that he was an old, very useful weapon. It has been in Sokovia that I'd seen him, but that was just before they shipped him to a base in this country."

"Which one?" Thor, surprisingly, interjected with some degree of intensity to his voice. The entire time everything had gone down, Thor had simply been listening to all of Andrea's problems. Was it possible that she'd inspired him enough to want to take immediate action like she had Natasha? "If we know where _they're_ hiding, we can guess where they're hiding _him_."

"Washington D.C." That answer came from Pietro.

" _Shit_ ," Steve swore under his breath.

Sam laughed without humor, shaking his head in disbelief. "Just our luck, huh Cap?"

"What's the problem?" Bruce questioned, furrowing his brow.

"Well, take your pick," Tony answered. "D.C. has been a hellhole for the past few months. Rogers was off doing his whole vigilante Daredevil stint and Romanov was with him. Both of them were basically on our country's most wanted list for at least a week. That was the same week that Hydra decided it wanted to rear its ugly ass head and reveal itself."

"Which means they would have moved," Natasha deadpanned. "And they've had plenty of time to do it."

Clint raised his hand to gain attention. After he had it, he pointed to Andrea. "But, like. We know where they are. They came after you, didn't they? Like, a lot of them? Not even just once, but twice."

Oh.

Holy _shit_.

"You're right," Andrea breathed, a sudden flash of realization hitting her. "They've gotta be in New York. Not even just for Bucky, but for me. I've lived here my whole life, and that video Alexander Pierce gave me basically said that he's had me under surveillance since I was adopted."

"That might just be a coincidence," Bruce said thoughtfully. "Not to play devil's advocate or anything."

"I don't think it is," Andrea breathed, running a hand through her hair. Jesus, this whole thing might actually get resolved a lot faster than she'd imagined it would. "I don't think locating him will be the issue, that comes later."

"She's right," Natasha chimed in, sitting forward and nodding. "They're keeping him in the state, especially after that video. It'll be hard because now NYPD is gonna be on it if they even get the smallest mention of him, but Hydra's keeping Barnes in New York. They want _her_." Said with an inclination of her head towards Andrea.

"But why?" Pietro questioned. The twins still hadn't exactly been completely brought up to speed on the whole scenario, and both looked equally as confused as the other. "I don't understand, why are they hell bent on making you miserable? You're the leader's daughter, I get it, and your lover was their most prized asset, but... that really doesn't seem like a reason to make your life hell."

"It's my-" Andrea cut herself off before she could say the words 'best friend.' "The head agent, Nova. Or, that's not her real name, she said it was Kaza- Kaz...?"

Suddenly, beside Andrea, Natasha's back immediately went ramrod straight. "Kazakova? Dominika Kazakova is the one that did this to you?" There was a world far away that could only be seen by Natasha's gaze.

"Yeah," Andrea answered. "You know her?"

"I did," was all she said. Then the room fell silent.

Which, didn't actually last long because Clint directed his gaze to Wanda. "Can you do it?" he asked quietly. There was something about the way he acted with the twins that made him seem like their older brother, or weird uncle, or something like that. "Natasha brought you here to ask if you would restore Barnes's memory. Is that possible?"

Wanda took a moment to think. "I've never... made anyone see something that actually happened. My work isn't directly with memories, but mostly fabricating dreams and letting you pull up your fears by yourself. Something I want him to see, or his subconsciousness does, is usually what will pop up." Biting her lip, she looked over at Andrea and gave a reassuring gaze. "However... If all else fails, I _can_ make him see a vision of you. One that will put you in his mind, convince him of who he is, and it should be strong enough to break their control over him."

Andrea wanted to weep with joy, she was so relieved. Was any of this real? Was she actually making progress on saving Bucky? It felt too good to be true. These people in the room with her, these amazing people, they all wanted to help her get him back, and it looked like they were about to accomplish just that. Finally, _finally_ Andrea would be able to sleep peacefully at night again.

"Thank you!" Andrea cried, unable to help from throwing herself out of her chair and over to wrap her arms around Wanda. The pain in her leg didn't even phase her; something was _finally_ going right. "Thank you _so_ much!"

She'd acted without thinking though, and hadn't actually expected to feel a pair of arms lightly return the embrace. "Of course. I get the feeling you would do the same for me, if I were in a predicament that you could assist with." The funny thing was, Andrea didn't doubt that.

After Andrea finally let go, Pietro looked at her expectantly. "What, I don't get a hug too?"

Over her laughter, Andrea could hear everybody else chuckle and saw Wanda smacking her brother on his arm. "Don't be a creep, Pietro. She's spoken for."

Pietro held up his hands in self defense, shrugging. "I'm just being _friendly_." Nevertheless, Andrea _did_ hug him. He'd been kind enough to her the entire time he was visiting.

Of course, Andrea's luck didn't seem to be holding out much of late, which meant that since she was genuinely happy in that moment, something was _bound_ to go south.

She just didn't expect that to happen immediately.

"Miss Pierce?" came Jarvis's voice on the intercom system. "Your brother is contacting the tower. Shall I connect you?"

Calix? Andrea had spoken to him no more than two days ago. She'd called him to reassure her that he was okay, to let him know that she was safe from the violence in Brooklyn and was currently staying in Stark tower. Calix had asked after Bucky, had questioned where he was and whether he was okay, but Andrea hadn't been able to provide him with an answer. Still, Calix had accepted it with the promise that Andrea would explain what was going on when she could. So obviously, that begged the question: what did he want?

"Um, yeah, Jarvis, that's fine."

And that was when she heard Calix's voice, urgently filtering through the intercom system. Only, there was something off. He was breathing too hard, he sounded too frantic. Something had gone amiss.

"Ally?" Calix called out to - almost begged? - her. Andrea felt something churning in her stomach, something she knew she wasn't going to like. "Can you hear me? Please, God, _Ally?_ "

Everyone in the room tensed immediately, and as Andrea remembered herself, she pushed off the fear and unsureness she felt and answered the cries. "C-Calix?" she asked back, voice trembling slightly. "Calix, what is it? What's wrong?"

To her absolute horror, in the background noise behind Calix's breathing, Andrea heard something she'd never, _ever_ thought she would hear. Her brother was gasping, _calling_ for her, _afraid_ because what was endangering him... Was speaking ribbons of Russian that sounded _awfully_ dangerous.

" _Bucky_ ," Calix managed to spit out, voice trembling. Never, not once in her life had Andrea ever heard her brother speak with such potent emotion. "I mean, it _looks_ like Bucky, but I can't... I don't know. W-what's going on? You never, you didn't tell me..."

Out of the corner of her eye, Andrea saw Steve, who looked shellshocked, tighten his hand into a fist. "Jesus Christ, they wouldn't... Even _they_ have to have a line they aren't willing to cross, Bucky would never forgive himself if he-" He managed to cut himself off, eyes drifting back to Andrea, before finishing the phrase that would have made Andrea sick to her stomach.

Thor was the one to answer Steve's statement. "From what I've heard of these people, they are as ruthless as anyone could pass for. I would take it on faith that people like that have no moral code of conduct."

" _Ally_." Calix's voice, pitched low as though he were trying not to be heard, snapped Andrea's attention back to her brother's urgent situation. God, _how_ had she gotten herself into this situation? _All_ she'd done was fall in love. "Ally, please, _what_ is going on? You have to _tell_ me, he's... Bucky's _looking_ for me, and I couldn't stop him from getting to Rosella."

Oh, God, _no_.

Calix's _wife_. What had Bucky done to her?

"I'm not sure what he did, she told me to run, but... I can't hear her downstairs, and I am _freaking_ the fuck out, and I just-"

A loud crash sounded on the line, interrupting Calix's sentence. From what Andrea could tell, her brother had barely had enough time to scream before a series of rage filled roars and thumps. Having to listen to that sequence, especially with everyone in the room surrounding her, was a _nightmare_. And that nightmare was punctuated when silence fell, and the only thing Andrea could hear on her brother's line was breathing.

Andrea allowed for a moment of silence, just a few seconds so that she could process and factor what had just gone down. Then, swallowing hard, she opened her mouth and asked, "Calix? Can you hear me?" She didn't know if she'd been understood, though. Her voice was tight with fear and her body was on the verge of breaking down from anxiety and the question of her brother's well being.

There was even more silence.

Then, " _U menya yest' tvoy brat i yego zhena. Yesli vy ne zdes' v techeniye dvukh dney, oni oba umirayut._ " With that, the line went dead, and Natasha and the twins went rigid.

She didn't need to be told who the speaker had been, or that what he'd left her with was a threat. She'd heard Bucky speak Russian on many different occasions, and could perfectly picture how he would sound speaking the language while in a deadly state. What she'd just heard matched her imagination entirely.

"What is it?" Andrea begged, looking between the three faces of people who would have understood the words a bit more concisely than Andrea had.

Natasha closed her eyes a moment, reopened them, and met Andrea's gaze. That alone told Andrea that what had been said was twenty times worse than anything she could have possibly imagined. "He... he said if you don't meet him at your brother's house in two days... Andrea, he's going to kill Calix and his wife."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to get interesting, folks! Let me know what you guys think! Also, if you want to ask any questions, feel free to leave them in the comments, or you can go on my tumblr and ask me there! My url is mylovelylittlestyles :) I'd be happy to answer anything you're curious about!
> 
> Also, I'm not sure if anyone's picked up on it yet, but most of my chapter titles come from song titles or lines of songs that I feel sort of match the mood, in case anyone wanted to go listen to those.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	27. Hum Hallelujah

"Look, there's no way they're gonna let you out there," Tony told Andrea, casting her a sideways glance. She was guessing he wasn't telling her that because he enjoyed it, but she was almost sure that he was _entertained_ by the argument. But now was not the time to find amusement in the conversation they were having. People's lives were on the line. "Hell, I don't even know if _I_ would be okay with it."

Andrea crossed her arms defiantly, turning to glare at Tony. It was easy for her to see him pretending not to notice that, especially with the way he just kept fiddling with all of the tech on his work bench, but she was positive something told him that she wasn't fooled in the slightest. "Then it's probably a really good thing that _none_ of you can tell me what to do, isn't it?" She did her best to make it clear that she was dead serious with that one.

For the first two or three days of Andrea's stay, Tony had been asking Jarvis to monitor her heart rate and let him know how she did. When Jarvis had repeatedly told Tony that she wasn't sleeping, Tony had invited her to sit in the lab with him until she was tired enough to sleep. Andrea had accepted his invitation that first night and had come to keep him company until about four in the morning. After that first night, she'd taken it upon herself to make her way to the lab every night, and Tony had been successful in talking her into getting to bed by two. Somehow talking to him seemed to help relieve the terrors she faced in the night time, but they were still there.

Which was why it was now three in the morning, Tony's defenses were wearing down, and Andrea was pissed beyond belief. The majority of the others had made their wishes loud and clear to her earlier; there would be a rescue mission for Calix and his wife mobilized by noon, but Andrea was not to be present. She'd just about screamed her lungs out when everyone opposing her desire to go had voiced their opinions and had stormed off to her room, injured leg practically forgotten with how she was stomping about. Childish, she knew, but she didn't care; she was too angry. Now Andrea was doing her best to appeal to Tony's compassion.

That was something she would think he would feel justified in giving her points for, and she was silently thanking whoever was out there that she'd managed to pick up a few manipulation skills from Bucky while he'd been with her. From him, Andrea had learned to play up her most valuable assets, meaning that if she was trying to get her way, she may as well utilize the big doe eyes she was so great at giving people. Perhaps the defiance in her body would have counteracted the effects for anyone else, but Tony seemed to find it at least a little endearing.

"Listen," he sighed, dropping his tools and the pretense of work. That was something she was glad for; if they were going to have this discussion, he at least owed it to her to be straight about it. "I get that there are people you care about more than anything who are at risk in this situation, but we're doing what we're doing to keep you safe." Andrea almost interrupted him, but Tony pushed forward, probably guessing her intentions. "We can get your brother back for you, I _promise_."

Andrea's eyes hardened and her mouth set, something she would only send Tony's way at that time of night - or was it morning? "This isn't about _my_ safety! My brother is in danger and I am the _only one_ who can stop him and his wife from being killed! Do none of you _care_ about that?"

Tony closed his eyes, spread his hands out in a surrendering gesture, and reopened his eyes to look at Andrea. In that moment, she wondered what she must have looked like to the taller man. Did she look as furious as she felt? Did she look like she was ready to take on armies of soldiers the way she thought she was, not only for Bucky but also Calix and Rosella? At the softening of Tony's face and the reaching of his hand towards her shoulder, Andrea figured no. There was no way she looked like any of the things she felt she did. No matter how angry or exasperated she thought she was, it wouldn't show on her face, not the way she wanted it to.

And if she had managed to find a mirror or a window to look into at that moment, she'd have seen that the girl staring back at her, so small and fragile looking, appeared to be just on the brink of crying.

"Alexandrea, I promise you, we-" Tony stopped himself. Whatever exactly was going through his mind, Andrea couldn't be sure. Tony hadn't been anything but kind to her since she'd arrived unconscious at the tower. He'd been gracious and friendly, things he still was. At that moment, though, there was something determined in his gaze, and his jaw set in much the same way hers had. " _They_ don't think you should go. I can't change that."

Was that a crack in the armor she spotted?

"'They?' What do you mean?"

Tony shrugged, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Andrea could tell he was tired, a rarity before five a.m., but she couldn't help but think of that as an advantage. His fatigue would be wearing him down, making it easier to argue her case. It might have been an unfair advantage of sorts, but Tony had already seemed to be wavering ever since he'd gotten out of talking with everyone else. "Most of the others don't think it's a good idea to send you out to where your brother is. They're talking about how it's probably a set up and it's a dangerous situation."

A dangerous situation? A _set up?_ Was she _hearing_ that correctly? The whole thing had been orchestrated by Hydra, _obviously_ it was a set up. Had they spent all that time, wasting a full day  _discussing_ basic facts about the situation instead of taking action to help Calix and Rosella? They could have been there to help her brother and her sister-in-law hours ago if they'd have just agreed to Bucky's terms. _Hours_. And instead? Instead they'd spent their time going back and forth over the most basic details of what was going down.

"What do _you_ think, then?" Andrea spat the question out a little more forcefully than she'd meant to, but she figured that, like Natasha, Tony would be able to take the less forgiving tone without getting too beaten up over it. "You said 'the others.' You're separating yourself. If that's what they think, then what do you think."

"Personally?" Tony sighed, dropping his hand. He leaned his hips against the work bench, effortlessly managing to seem carefree while so obviously being anything but that. "I don't think we're going to be doing your brother any favors if we show up without you. Your boyfriend was pretty vague on those instructions he gave you. He said you needed to show up. _You_. He never said we couldn't turn up _with_ you, but I'm sure we can both imagine what happens if we all show up _without_ you. Now, there are way more of us than there are of Bucky Barnes, but I can't promise you that he won't be able to pull a trigger faster than we can subdue him. That would make me a lying optimist, two things I am not."

He was right. Bucky had said a total of three sentences with no further instruction. As long as Andrea was present, Calix and Rosella were sure to get out alive. _She_ was the ticket to their freedom, but there was no telling what their fates would be if all those superheroes arrived without the one person who had specifically been requested.

Well, actually, their fates in that case were spelled out pretty clearly. It just didn't do well for her peace of mind to think about that.

Instead, she went back to prodding at Tony with her questions. "Did, um, did anyone else happen to share your concerns?"

That seemed to take him another minute to construct an answer to. "I mean, I don't know about my _concerns_ ," Tony started, "but Natasha agrees with me that we should bring you. And wherever Natasha's opinions fall, Clint's aren't usually far away. The twins also seem to feel a particular sympathy to your cause - _especially_ Pietro? I'm not really sure what that's about, but I'm like eighty five percent sure his weakness is pretty girls who are _totally_ out of his league - and even Thor seems to think it isn't a bad idea."

How very _interesting_ that everyone had decided to keep those numbers from her.

"That's not even a _majority!_ " Andrea yelled. Forgetting herself, letting her anger get the best of her for only a moment, she let her leg fly back and strike Tony's work bench. Upon feeling the sharp pain shoot up from her foot through her ankle, she let out an even louder scream, this one of hurt rather than fury. "Oh, mother _fucker!_ "

" _Alexandrea!_ " Tony barked, eyes going wide. With that expression, with what he must have been seeing of her behavior in that moment, Andrea didn't even want to think about the conclusions he would be coming to. "You have to be _careful_ with yourself! You _cannot_ lash out like that, do you hear me?"

"And you people can't keep me from helping someone I _love!_ " There was a line she was about to cross, one she'd crossed once before on the day that Bucky had first kissed her. Her anger had bubbled up inside of her like crazy, had filled her to the brim, spilled over the edge, and made her say things she really didn't mean to be so venomous. It was a skill she'd honed sometime ago, one that hurt people... but it was also a sort of defense mechanism. Defense from what, she was unsure, but that was irrelevant now. "You people call yourselves superheroes, you promise to help save the innocent and protect everybody, but evidently that's a load of _shit!_ Who the hell do you think you're protecting by keeping me from saving my brother, huh? Me? I don't want to be safe if it means Calix and his wife die! I'm not going to let that happen!"

Tony seemed to be doing his very best not to lash back at her. In his life it must have been something he was used to doing, as he had pushed people away in much the same way she had, but the look on his face said she wasn't someone he wanted to be negative with at the time. "Look. I already told you, _I_ am on your side. I am _all_ for suiting you up and taking you to see your demented boyfriend before your life gets even more fucked than it already is, but that's _not_ for me to decide!"

"And it's sure as _hell_ not for Steve, Sam, and Bruce to decide, either! I don't care if they don't want me to go, I am _saving_ my brother! I'm not about to lose another person I love because of who I am and who I'm in love with is, alright? I don't give a _shit!_ I will _walk_ my ass to Massachusetts if I have to, I don't _care_ , but it is _going_ to happen! Look me in the eye and tell me it's not!"

Andrea was way out of line, and she was conscious of that fact, but she couldn't bring herself to care. These people, Bucky, Nova, _everyone_ had assumed that she would be willing to lay down and play victim, and that was quite possibly the largest insult to her character anyone could possibly offer. She wasn't sure what had given everybody the impression that she was too fragile to manage things, too soft to hold her own against Bucky while getting her brother and his wife to safety, and wasn't quite sure why they were all jumping on that so eagerly. Perhaps it had something to do with the meltdown she'd had the first day she'd woken in the tower, but Andrea was willing to bet her life that every single person in that tower along with her had broken at least once in their lifetimes.

Tony sighed forcefully, glancing down at his feet for a second. Then, almost grudgingly, he moved forward to look over his work bench, moving things around and shuffling papers. It wasn't surprising that those actions were required, really; the space was cluttered, messy, rings of coffee scattered across the desk top and the papers. There had been more than one occasion when Andrea had been tempted to take it upon herself to clean it for him, but she had figured he'd end up disliking the improvement. He seemed to have a liking for organized chaos.

As he performed his search for whatever he was looking for, Tony paused a moment and asked over his shoulder, "You ever wear contacts?"

 _That_ was definitely not a question she had been expecting, partly because it had absolutely nothing to do with anything they'd been speaking with each other about. Or, so Andrea thought. "Excuse me?"

"Contacts," Tony repeated. He finally picked up a small object from under a pile of grease rags and turned back to Andrea. Resting in his palm was, of course, a contact lens case. "Have you ever worn them?"

"No," Andrea replied, deciding it would be best to play along. "I've never needed glasses, never had the need for contacts. Why?"

Tony pushed his hand closer to Andrea until she understood that she was supposed to take the case from him. "Because I may be a reckless person that makes questionable choices," he explained, leaning back against his work bench again, "but I am _not_ a total idiot. So... If I'm going to condone putting you into a dangerous situation with virtually no protection - which I am _not_ , by the way; condoning, I mean - then I at least need to be able to monitor your situation."

The words he spoke were giving Andrea hope, but they were also confusing as shit. "How, um. How exactly do contacts come into that situation? Just out of curiosity?"

A smile, the wicked and borderline dangerous one that could only be associated with inventors, showcased itself on Tony's face. That also came along with a touch of pride, making Andrea second guess exactly what it was resting in her palm. "Bruce and I engineered those together. Took us a long ass time and a couple of breakdowns thanks to how fucking easy those lenses are to rip, but they're finally finished. In those contacts are micro-cameras, so small you won't even be able to feel or see them. When you wear them while activated, everything you see will be transmitted back to that screen over there." With his finger, Tony pointed to one of the far off holo-screens on the other side of the vast room.

"What are you saying, Tony?" As it happened, Andrea felt that she already knew the answer, but she did _not_ want to get her hopes up just to be thrown into a down spiral of disappointment. "What are you saying?"

The man standing before Andrea shook his head, gaze finding its way up and to the ceiling. "I'm saying that if you wear those contacts and I can finish off the audio portion within the next three hours so that I can hear and communicate with you discreetly, then I'll call Pietro up here and he and I will have a chat about him running you to Massachusetts. But if I do this, you _can't_ tell anybody about it. You're gonna go to sleep now and Pietro will wake you up when he's ready to take you. Do you understand?"

This was really happening. Tony was legit offering her the chance to not only save Calix and Rosella, but to also make an attempt on Bucky. If it worked, if Pietro was willing to run her there and Bucky wasn't too far away to bring back, she could solve both her problems then and there. It would be two birds with one stone, and that was something she couldn't pass up. She was so close; there was just a small leap she had to take to bridge the gap, and she was _more_ than happy to take the jump.

Despite herself, a few tears managed to slip down her cheeks. For once, though, they weren't tears of sorrow. No, these tears? They were joyful. "Thank you, Tony," she whispered, wiping the tears from her face. Tears, she'd learned, made Tony just the tiniest bit uncomfortable, and after the good news he'd gifted her, Andrea didn't want to unsettle him. "I just... thank you _so_ much."

Tony rolled his eyes and brought his arms out to wrap Andrea in a strong hug. Not something she'd been expecting from Tony Stark of all people, but Andrea supposed she shouldn't judge a book by its cover anyway. "Yeah, don't thank me yet. If you survive American Psycho, you still have to go through Rogers when you get back. The dude's a fucking _mom_. Not to mention the total shitstorm Pepper's gonna unleash on me. You get back, you _so_ owe me one."

Andrea laughed and squeezed him before letting the embrace go. "If I get back, I'll owe you two."

Swatting her on the arm, Tony made a face of disapproval. "Hey, no 'if' about this, you hear me? And I meant it when I said don't thank me yet, I still have to find something to put the audio feeds in that could go on your ear but still be discreet enough to escape Wonder Assassin's notice."

An audio feed. What could possibly hide an audio feed and a microphone? Something small, something unnoticeable enough to escape the eye of someone who noticed everything. It would have to be something ordinary, something that wouldn't be questioned by a person whose job it was to not let anything get passed him. And it would have to be on her ear...

At that moment, Andrea was thanking the hell out of her lucky stars for the rebellious phase she'd gone through when she was sixteen.

"Tony," she started, bringing both hands up to undo the backing that held the earring in place, "when I was sixteen, I wanted to piss my mom off really bad. One of my friends was handy with a needle, so I had them pierce my tragus for me. It was stupid, but I mean... Are the audio chip and the microphone small enough to fit in this?"

The stud was of fair size for ear jewelry, and it had been one of the first pieces Andrea had bought for herself. Set into it was an opal stone, the colors bouncing and reflecting even in the fluorescent lighting of Tony's lab, and she was sure that if he could unearth the stone from its setting, there would be enough space for him to fit what he needed to inside it. The stud possessed a beauty that would be typical of a young girl to be drawn to, which meant that it would prove easy enough to get passed Bucky's notice. Who knew that a metaphorical middle finger to her mother from four years ago would be saving her ass?

Taking the ring from her, Tony held it up close to his eye. For a few seconds he inspected it intensely, then raised his gaze back up to Andrea. "Congrats on sticking it to your mom, kid. You just found a way to save your brother." Interestingly, there actually _was_ a look of pride in Tony's eyes. "Go to sleep, alright? I'll hopefully be able to make this work, and I'm hoping Pietro won't have any issues leaving his sister here for a day or two. Alexandrea Jamison, you have done yourself good."

And as Andrea felt Tony's hand reassuringly squeeze her shoulder, she decided something. Something she'd been thinking after for a long time, actually, but now... now she knew exactly how to handle it. That name was something she would not allow to have hold over her anymore, and she needed to do away with it as soon as she possibly could. "You know, if you don't mind," Andrea began, raising her eyebrows at the thoughts crossing through her mind yet smiling nonetheless, "I don't think I'd like to be called Alexandrea anymore. Or Andrea, for that matter."

Tony scrunched his eyebrows, tilting his head to the left. "Alright, then. Time for you to get passed that identity crisis you were telling me about. But, uh, if you don't mind my asking... what would you like to be called?"

That was the question, wasn't it? If it wasn't going to Andrea or Alexandrea, if it wasn't going to be Jamison or any name she'd identified with since four years old, then what was it going to be? Who was she? In her heart and mind, in the places where she truly knew herself, what was she left to identify as?

The answer was burned into her mind before she even really recognized it as _the_ answer.

"Call me... I want you to call me Sasha. From now on, my name is Sasha Pierce."

If anything, Tony looked flabbergasted. She didn't even actually know quite what that word meant, but she _felt_ like it was appropriate. "Okay, I get the Pierce part. Your biological dad's last name, that makes sense. But, um, the Sasha part? Sasha isn't even close to Andrea."

Just before turning to go and leave the lab for her room, Andrea stepped forward for one more hug. It was a testament to how confused Tony was that he didn't raise his hands to hug her back. "Somebody once told me that it is if you're Russian." And with that, she let go of Tony after one last squeeze and gave him a thankful smile before heading for the door.

She'd be needing her rest; in the morning, she would be on her way to her brother.


	28. To Be Alone

"Pietro, wait, I- Just hang on a sec." Sasha - as she'd newly christened herself - closed her eyes and took a deep breath, head spinning at the mere memory of what it felt like to do just what they were going to. "I _just_ ate. I'm about to throw up."

Pietro gave her a look that said 'don't give me that shit' and flipped his hair back. That right there was a testament to how completely sassy his character was, and was something he was only able to get away with because he was helping her get to Bucky and Calix. If Pietro had done that to her under any other circumstances, Sasha would have clocked him on the head with a shoe or something. "I thought you said you'd gotten over your anxiety induced morning sickness? I told you I didn't want you vomiting on me; I could have called a cab."

Rolling her eyes, Sasha leaned against the side of the Denny's they'd just eaten at. It hadn't exactly been her first choice; on principle, Sasha generally tried her best to stay away from Denny's, because she didn't trust anywhere with food titled as a 'Grand Slam Combo Meal', but it was really the only place dead in the middle of the day. Pietro's argument that they had less of a chance of being taken down in a Denny's had ultimately won out over any preexisting biases she may have carried.

And, okay. The burger she'd eaten for lunch _had_ been pretty great.

Pressing a hand to her stomach, Sasha looked to Pietro again. "The anxiety has nothing to do with it, smart ass. The first two times you ran with me on your back, I almost died and you know it."

"I dropped you _once_ ," Pietro protested, crossing his arms in disbelief.

"And I'm still surprised I didn't smash open like a piñata! We were on the _highway!_ " Thankfully he'd managed to catch her before she actually hit the ground, but Sasha was in no rush to have that incident repeated.

Pietro's hand came to rest on her shoulder and he fixed her with a stern look. It wasn't one she had come to associate with the Maximoff in the short time they'd spent together; for the last few hours, Pietro hadn't been anything but humorous and lighthearted. His interactions were things he kept playful, his sentences bitingly sarcastic and laid back. The man before her was one who didn't take much seriously, and Sasha had learned that earlier on.

But that look, that _sincerity_ in his face and the touch on her arm? He wasn't playing around anymore. The nearby threat they were soon to face was all too close for Pietro's regular behavior. Sasha was beginning to sense that too - she hadn't even wanted to stop for food, she was so antsy to face Bucky and make sure Calix was safe. Perhaps she and Pietro simply coped in different ways.

"We're almost there," Pietro murmured, furrowing his brow at her as he squeezed her shoulder. She couldn't tell if he was trying to be convincing or comforting. Maybe both? It didn't much matter. "The faster we get there, the faster we save your brother and his wife and incapacitate your man." Secretly, Sasha was hoping that simply viewing her in the flesh would be enough for Bucky to break through his mental barriers, but it wasn't something she felt she should vocalize. "I'm the fastest option, and I _promise_ I won't drop you again. Okay?"

Sasha really didn't want to do this... but it was really the only way to save everybody she loved. In this event, she would have to set all her own petty reservations aside and get the job done. Once Calix and Rosella were safe and Bucky was free again, she would allow herself to be petty all she wanted.

Rolling her eyes and taking hold of Pietro's hand, Sasha held tight before looking him in the face. "I am never doing this with you again after this," she stated. " _Never_."

Pietro brought his other hand up to press against his chest, a dramatic attempt at feigning hurt. "You wound me, Pierce. Hop on, then. I know where I'm going." With that he crouched down and let go of her hand, offering her an angle at his back that was more suitable to her height. She stepped behind him, thought that it was seriously going to suck if super speed was how she died, and jumped up. As her legs secured themselves around his waist, she felt Pietro's fingers curl around from under her knees for extra support. "Are you ready?"

Sasha sighed, wrapping her arms around Pietro's torso and letting her chin rest on the indent of his shoulder. "I just want you to know that I don't trust you for _shit_."

"Dearly noted," he laughed gleefully. Then, they were off.

Sasha wasn't quite sure how she should feel about Pietro's super speed, other than the fact that it was beginning to physically take its toll on her. She was certain that most people would love to have the chance to go that fast, but it just left her stomach in knots. Even if she weren't constantly freaking out that Pietro's could potentially drop her, her body still wasn't used to the speed at which he traveled and was therefore unsure of whether or not to throw up. Thankfully, over the years, Sasha had managed to hone the skill of keeping her vomit inside her body as throwing up was definitely _not_ one of her more favorite things to do, but it certainly wasn't beneficial either. That was why she was there, stuck on Pietro's back and doing her best not to vomit down his back. Aside from that, she was sure the ride could be considered quite lovely.

She'd shared with Pietro that morning Calix's address and how to get to the house he and his wife were renting, so she felt safe in taking a few moments to reflect on what she could potentially be about to go through. In the best case scenario, she would walk into that house, manage to free her brother and her sister-in-law, and get Bucky back in his right mind all in one go. In the worst case scenario, well. Not only would Calix and Rosella be dead, but she may very well be too. It just depended on how Hydra had felt the need to set this little meeting for her, and whether or not they were finally ready to finish her off. Like it mattered; she didn't trust them one way or another.

At the back of her mind, Sasha found herself wondering what it might be like to see Bucky, in the flesh, as the shell of the person he used to be with her. There would be no laughter or crinkling eyes resulting from fond smiles, no gentle brushing of hands or lips. He would be standing ramrod straight, hand poised to reach for a gun or knife, eyes critically analyzing every little movement she made - not in the way that Bucky used to, but in the way of a cold and hardened assassin with no mind of his own. It would be hard to look at him at all, she was sure, and extremely surreal.

That was why she was doing this though, wasn't it? Aside from Calix and Rosella, Sasha was doing this because it was time to bring her boyfriend home. She _wanted_ to be able to look at him as she pleased, to kiss him when she wanted and to have him to comfort her when she woke up in the middle of the night, heart beating faster than she could cope with as she woke up from terrible dreams about the day he was taken from her. Those were all horribly selfish reasons of course, and Sasha _knew_ that, but that didn't mean they were any less true. She also wanted Bucky back so that he was no longer forced to mindlessly kill, but she didn't feel the need to justify her wants to herself simply because they were just a tad petty.

"Look, I get that the new view you get with being on my back is a lot better than the one you have with your three foot tall self, but you can't stay up there forever." Pietro's voice cut through her thoughts like a butcher's knife, sharp and painfully distracting. Sasha should know; she'd had knives pressed against her skin before. "Then again, perhaps the jealousy your boyfriend will feel will snap him out of his mind control. Do you think it would be more effective if we kissed?"

Shaking her head and unable to help the smile as she dropped down from Pietro's back, Sasha walked around to stand in front of him, trying to ignore the fact that her back was now to Calix's house. "First of all, I will have you know I'm at least two inches above five feet; you might _think_ you've got a lot on me with your five foot seven self, but those extra five inches aren't _shit_ , Maximoff. Second, Bucky once threatened my dance partner because he was worried the guy wouldn't know how to keep his hands in the right sort of places. I can only imagine what he'll do if he comes back to you sucking face with me."

"I never said anything about sucking face, Pierce. Those are your words, not mine."

"You are literally the most flirty person, I swear to god. Now is _so_ not the time." Turning back to face Calix's house, Sasha used her thumb and index finger to press the opal stone of her tragus stud. "Hey, Tony? You seeing this?"

"Yeah, hon, crystal clear," a tinny voice coming from the stud said in her ear. It was amazing how much high quality sound such a tiny little speaker was giving off. "Your brother's got a cute little house. I take it that's wifey's doing?"

The house was a two story building with light blue paint and white roof tiles. The front porch was made of concrete, the covering supported by white Greek styled columns, and many plants growing in cute, decorative pots lined the edge of the patio and went back in rows, lining a path to the door paned with glass. Yeah; this house was definitely Rosella's pick.

"Probably. Let me know if you can hear okay, because if the answer's yes then I'm going in."

A new voice spoke on the line, one that was a lot more tense than that of Tony's laid back one. " _Please_ be careful," Steve pleaded. She'd quite literally gotten an earful from him over the communication device when he'd found out she'd left, but it wasn't like he was able to change what was happening now. "Don't engage him, okay? You let him see that you're there so your brother and his wife can leave, and then you stun him with that gun Tony gave you. I'm sure Pietro can handle the rest."

"Thanks Mom," Sasha retorted wryly. "Anyways, can I go?"

Sam's voice was the one that chimed in next, leaving Sasha with a message that she wasn't quite sure how to feel about. "For real, kid. Be careful. You and I are gonna need to have that chat once you get back, but we can't do that if you get shot." To be honest, she'd almost forgotten her premonition that Sam had been keeping something from her, but at least she had something to look forward to now that she remembered.

"Copy that." Reaching up to press the opal again, Sasha took a deep breath and turned to Pietro. "Time to go in."

With a hand, her companion motioned to the door. "You're sure he won't shoot me on sight?"

Technically no, she wasn't sure, and this whole thing was based off of a shit ton of her own guess work as well as Tony's. "I mean, there's a fifty-fifty chance he does. It's not like you can't outrun the bullets or anything, right?" The glare Pietro shot her way was enough to convey his feelings about her stereotyping his abilities.

" _Anyways_ ," Pietro pressed pointedly, taking a few steps towards Calix's front door. "Let's take down an asset."

Easier said than done, because once they made it into the house, door quietly closed behind their backs and stun gun tightly grasped in Sasha's hand, the game sort of changed.

One moment it was simple. Sasha and Pietro were taking careful steps and looking around the first level of the house. Eerily enough, everything was neat and tidy, and that bugged her because she knew what was going on in this place. There should be a mess, broken glass strewn across the floor and tipped lamps scattered everywhere; that was how it had been that night Hydra had attacked her. But then, she supposed Bucky possessed a bit more finesse in his ways.

In the next second, things got complicated.

A very profound, clear shout came from somewhere beyond the top of the staircase, more than likely from the master bedroom. Though Sasha had been expecting it, that did not stop her stomach from twisting at the sound of Russian words shaped in Bucky's voice. Once, she'd found the language charming and romantic coming from him; now every word was a knife in her side.

Pietro eyed her, then gestured with his chin to the staircase. "He heard us. Said to come up. If you want, I could try to rush your brother and his wife out of there."

Sasha shook her head, already heading for the steps. "You won't be able to carry both of them at once, and Bucky _will_ shoot you. It's way too dangerous to try and find a work around."

"Then at least let me go first." At the look Sasha have Pietro, Pietro gave her one right back, only his was more of a superior sort of thing. "I've been in this sort of situation before, remember? You haven't."

While that was true, and while Sasha was definitely scared out of her mind to walk up those stairs and face what was waiting for her, neither of those things mattered. "Bucky wants _me_. There's no telling what he'll do if he doesn't see me immediately. I go first. You can be right behind me if you want." With that, she began walking up the staircase; there was no more time to waste arguing back and forth.

As she and Pietro crept up the stairs, still doing their best to stay silent even though they knew the jig was up, Sasha began to hear a soft sobbing filtering through the hall the closer they got to the master bedroom. _Rosella_. She and Calix had been kept conscious. At that realization, Sasha's stomach twisted into a knot. Surely Nova wouldn't have had Bucky _torture_ them... right?

The need to make sure suddenly grew overwhelming. Her brother and sister-in-law might have been put through the worst possible treatment of their lives in the last day and a half, and it would all have been Sasha's own fault. Reassurance that that wasn't the case wasn't a want; it was a _need_.

"Do _not_ ," Pietro hissed in her ear from behind. He must have anticipated what she was about to do as Sasha could feel his hand shoot out to fist in the fabric of her shirt to keep her from doing just that, but ironically enough he simply wasn't fast enough. Sasha managed to bolt down the rest of the hallway and throw the door to the master bedroom open, eyes searching for Calix and Rosella.

She found both of them immediately, wrists bound underneath their knees and ankles bound as well. The darkness of Rosella's hair obscured her face as she leaned into Calix's shoulder to find some sort of comfort, body shaking with her hysterical cries. That was something that threw Sasha off almost immediately. In all the times she'd seen her sister-in-law, Rosella had never been anything but cool and composed, even when Sasha's mother had been constantly harping on her. Always, _always_ Rosella managed to stay collected. To be crying and shaking in the way that she was now, murmuring what sounded like a Spanish prayer under her breath, meant that she must truly be fearing for her life and her husband's.

Calix seemed to be handling the situation a little better, his own head leaning against Rosella's and eyes closed tightly. There wasn't any shaking or crying coming from him, only what looked like an agonizingly hopeful facial expression. What he was hoping for, Sasha wasn't too sure, but it was evident that he was thinking on _something_.

Her first instinct was to run to the two of them as soon as she saw them, but right after she took her first step there was the audible sound of a gun being cocked. "You move, I shoot." Just like that, Sasha was frozen in place with ice in her veins.

Slowly, agonizingly so, she let her eyes slide off of Calix and Rosella and over to the other corner of their bedroom, where a tall, black-clad figure stood. Or, perhaps 'stood' wasn't the correct word; Sasha wasn't sure what exactly could be applied aside from _dominated_ , but that would probably sound melodramatic to anyone besides herself. For a moment she forgot where she was, forgot who all was in the room with her, and everything else faded to black except _him_.

He looked the same. That felt unfair, felt like some unspoken law had been broken, and not only did he look the same, but he also looked _healthy_. A lot about somebody's appearance could change drastically in a short amount of time, especially when treated the way Sasha had assumed they'd treat Bucky. Still, no matter how many times she'd attempted to picture what he might look like after these few weeks, she had failed to foresee the tan of his skin, proclaiming he'd had ample amounts of time in the sunlight. Then there was the styling of his hair, which looked like someone had taken precious time to perfect and the obvious toning of his muscles. Sasha wasn't really sure how he could possibly look even more muscular than the last time she'd seen him, particularly because Bucky had always had the body fat percentage of about negative five, but there he was, standing before her.

Bucky looked scary, rigid and dangerous of course... but he also looked beautiful. Sasha should have known that reverting back to a killer wouldn't have had any effect on how attractive he was to her, as it was about to get her in a _lot_ of trouble.

"Hey," she let slip, not quite able to breathe properly. "I..." What was she supposed to _say_ to him?

Bucky took her failure to continue as his cue to speak. Jaw working as he motioned with his gun to a spot behind her, he stated, "I don't remember asking you to bring a boyfriend." Why did that feel like he had punched her in the face?

In that moment Sasha was reminded that Pietro was the one Bucky would have been referring to, as he scoffed from behind her. "Trust me, I'm _definitely_ not her type."

Sasha wanted to open her mouth and intercede, but Bucky's eyes focusing back on her pinned her in place. There was something in that look that reminded her of the first time she'd met him; perhaps it was the analytical assessment of how much of a threat he should consider her, but she wasn't sure. "No," he eventually let out as his eyes rolled down her body then flitted back up to her face. "Evidently not. My mistake."

If there was something she definitely hadn't expected from Bucky in his brainwashed state, it was the presence of a personality that had the audacity to give her a once-over. He'd told her he hadn't experienced emotion while in this state, had felt a complete lack of feeling or care for anything. There was no anger, sadness, happiness, satisfaction, there was _nothing_.

Apparently all that meant was that he was now a cynical asshole.

"Anyways," Sasha tried again, words coming easier to her this time around, "I'm here. My brother and his wife... you said you'd let them go if I showed up. I'm here."

Her words appeared to have no effect on Bucky, who went on to respond with, "The stun gun you're trying to hide from me. Drop it."

Oh, god damn it.

Sighing inwardly at the fact that Steve was probably watching and having an aneurysm, Sasha brought the gun out from behind her back and held it up. It almost felt as though Pietro was about to stop her but he must have decided otherwise, because he thankfully remained still and silent. "How do you even know this isn't a real gun? What if I shot you instead?"

If possible, Bucky almost looked offended, which, if Sasha understood the correctly, shouldn't have even been a _thing_. "Okay, look. There's definitely a difference between stun guns and actual guns, there's no need to insult me. Second of all, we both know you wouldn't be able to put a bullet in anyone, much less me." And why would he say that? Was he trying to hint that he was in possession of his memories? Did he _know_ her?

"I don't think-"

"I didn't _ask_ for an argument," Bucky snapped, deathly calm. Even though the situation was completely serious, Sasha couldn't help but think he sounded like a parent chastising his child. "Drop it _now_ , or I shoot the girl." His gun made a graceful arc in the air to point at Rosella, straight at her torso.

Suddenly, Rosella's head whipped straight up and her eyes locked onto Bucky, pleading for him to show her any scrap of mercy he could. " _No por favor! Estoy embarazada, te lo dije! Estoy embarazada!_ " Her body pressed as close to Calix as her confinement would allow, and the frantic Spanish that truly only came out when she was flustered had a note of anguish in it.

Sasha had taken three years of Spanish in high school. It wasn't as though she was fluent or anything, but she knew enough to understand what had just been shouted. A tight knot formed in Sasha's stomach. Was there any other way for this situation to get worse?

"She's..." she trailed off, looking Bucky in the face and motioning towards Rosella. "She just said she was _pregnant_."

Pietro let out a low, "For _fuck's sake,_ " behind her.

Bucky nodded once, not looking the slightest bit surprised. "Yes, I know. She's begged for her life enough times with that little detail, but I'm sure you care much more than I do. So-" His arm tensed, finger flipping onto the trigger though his eyes never once leaving Sasha. "I'll make this easy. You're going to drop the stun gun, and then you're going to walk over here and stand beside me. Once that's done, your _friend_ there can go cut loose your brother and his wife with that knife he's got strapped under his shirt and take them somewhere safe. This is the only opportunity I'm giving you to let your loved ones walk free; if there is any attempt to get you away from me or to harm me, I shoot the girl first. Do you understand?"

This was _all_ kinds of fucked up. Clearly this situation was designed to make Sasha Bucky's prisoner, but what she couldn't actually figure out was _why_. Hydra didn't take prisoners; that was something Bucky would have known well.

The sketchiness of the situation would need to be bypassed, however. There was no way in hell Pietro was gonna want to agree to those terms, and looking over at Calix and Rosella provided her with gazes that said they both held just as much concern for her as they did for themselves, but this was the _one chance_ for three out of the four of them to get off scot free. Bucky was a man of his word, and, weirdly enough, Hydra kept their promises. It had to be done.

"Don't," Pietro whispered in her ear, a very small portion of his voice already sounding defeated. "We'll work out another option, alright? We can do this."

"By the time Wanda gets here, we'll all be dead," she shot back. "I don't think there _is_ another way. We have to go along, and you need to keep those two safe. Promise me you'll get them away and forget about saving me." She didn't wait for an answer before dropping the gun, kicking it away, and taking long, slow steps towards Bucky that would have made her ballet instructor proud.

As soon as she was within his range, Bucky spun her around and locked his arm around her throat, pointing the gun to her head instead of Rosella's stomach. Pietro looked alarmed and tensed himself to run for her, but Bucky simply stated, "A precaution. Cut them loose, take them away. If I find you trying to follow us, Miss Pierce won't survive the day."

Locking his jaw, Pietro met Sasha's eyes and nodded before moving for Calix and Rosella. He took the knife from under his shirt and cut the ropes binding them, then kept a firm grasp on both their arms as he stood them up and led him to the door. That was smart thinking; if Calix felt the need to try and save her, there was no doubt he'd try. Thankfully, Pietro led them out of the room before that happened, and she could hear them walking down the stairs. It was only a moment before the front door opened and closed again.

"Looks like it's just you and me, doll," Bucky murmured from behind her.

Unfortunately, that was exactly what it looked like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Guess who's totally getting their ass kicked by color guard summer training? The answer is: the author! I'm SUPER sorry that this is the first time I've updated all month, but I promise things will get back to normal once our choreography camp is over! Anyways, I hope you enjoyed! Let me know how you liked it, or yell at me for not updating! Either way, I'll appreciate it!


	29. In the Worst Kind of Way

It wasn't clear how long they'd been driving, especially because of the blindfold handicapping her ability to figure out the time of day or even where she was, but all Sasha knew was that she was in a car, Bucky was driving, and she had to go to the bathroom. _Badly_. Leave it to her body to choose the most inopportune times to start acting up.

"Where are we going?" she asked simply to distract herself. If she didn't think about it, she wouldn't have as much of a problem, and thinking about the fact that Bucky had literally thrown someone out of their car was actually almost comical.

"I believe you've missed the point of the blindfold," her companion remarked dryly. From the sound of his metal arm whirring and the shifting of his body she could feel, she wanted to say he had just taken a turn, but the direction remained unknown to her. "What do you need?"

For a moment she was brought up short. It was going to take some time to get used to, him reading her as though she were an open book. "Why would you think I need something?"

"Because you know better, and you're afraid of me. You wouldn't ask something idiotic like that unless you had a problem. So I ask you again: what do you need?" Damn. If she couldn't even mask the fact that she needed something from him, how was she supposed to hide her communication device from him?

Oh, shit. She'd turned that off before they'd gotten in the car, just before Bucky had blindfolded her, so she wouldn't make the mistake of replying to something someone in Tony's lab was saying and tipping Bucky off in the process. They'd be able to see what was going on, but that didn't help much on account of the fact that she was blindfolded. If she reached up to her ear, just to turn it back on, she felt like she'd be able to get away with not making a mistake.

That was why, as she reached up carefully to press the opal stone of her stud and at the same time make it look as though she was simply brushing her hair back and behind her ear, she finally answered Bucky with, "I need to use the restroom."

Suddenly the car jerked to the right, causing Sasha's body to slam against her seatbelt to the point where it may very well have left a bruise. Keeping from making an outburst was difficult, but she managed.

"I just took an exit for a rest stop," he explained. "The blindfold will come off so that civilians, if there are any, don't get suspicious. You will not ask anyone for help or let them know our situation, and you'll use the handicap restroom so you're not tempted to speak to others. I'll be waiting outside the door." Hearing him talk that much was still so strange; she never expected to get more than a few words out of him at a time.

"Fine," Sasha mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. That reminded her of his decision to leave her hands unbound, which still perplexed her. Perhaps he knew she wouldn't get very far in trying to escape anyway. "Just hurry it up, alright? I've been holding it for hours."

"You could have said something to me earlier."

"Right, well you'll have to forgive me for assuming you wouldn't be gracious about that sort of thing."

"Your mistake, not mine."

God. Had he always been that infuriating? Back when he was himself, the smarm and the pointedness had been charming to her; now it sort of just got on her nerves. Perhaps it was only enticing when he had his warmth and gentleness about him to back it up.

In another moment, Sasha heard Bucky park the car and get out, then felt her door open next to her. "Stay still," he ordered as his fingers found their way to the back of her head to undo the knot he'd tied. The stark contrast between the gruffness of his voice and the light, barely there padding of his fingers was astounding. Actually, if she didn't know better, Sasha would almost say that he was allowing his fingertips to unnecessarily skim across her scalp as he fiddled with the knot on purpose, but she wasn't about to let herself hope.

As his nimble fingers undid the last of the knots at the back of her head and the cloth fell away from her eyes, Sasha was met with the perfect sight of Bucky's face. Her first instinct was to smile, like she always used to when he appeared before her, but this was not the time or the place and Bucky would likely respond with some sort of cruel comment designed to leave an ache in her heart. Still. Looking at him was a blessing, but then, well... it also hurt.

Fortunately, the spell was shattered when he next opened his mouth to speak. "Get out," he commanded, staring Sasha down with a piercing gaze. She still wasn't sure why he felt the need to be so harsh with her, but decided not to dwell on it too much.

"Sir, yes, sir," Sasha grumbled, unbuckling her seat belt and stepping out of the car. Again, the reminder of how full her bladder was registered in her mind and she wasted no time in heading in the general direction of the restroom, knowing full well that Bucky would only be two steps behind her the whole time.

From the look of the sky it was early evening. The clouds were painted pink as cherry blossoms thanks to the sun and almost everything had a faint orange glow casted over it. Off in the distance was the moon, beginning to get brighter as the sun lowered, and the first few stars had decided to show themselves not far from it. It was the type of view Sasha might have stopped to take a picture of, if she hadn't decided against bringing her phone on her little trip with Pietro.

There was also not another person in sight, making Bucky's earlier threats obsolete. Of course; having no civilians in sight would be just her luck, and she couldn't decide whether to selflessly view that as a good thing or to selfishly view it as a bad thing. She supposed it made stopping to use the restroom a lot easier, as there would be no interruption and she wouldn't feel tempted to endanger someone else's life, but she couldn't quite decide if she had actually wanted it to be easy.

Remembering what Bucky had said about the handicapped stall, Sasha marched her way over to the small detached building meant for the physically disabled and turned around to face Bucky once more. "I'll only be a few minutes," she stated, almost feeling like she'd somehow challenged him with her words. "Or are you gonna tell me I have exactly thirty seconds before you charge in to make sure I haven't escaped?"

"Please," Bucky scoffed, "take as long as you need. We both know you won't be going anywhere." How unsettlingly true. Sasha tried to shake that out of her mind as she walked inside the bathroom, opening and closing the door gently.

After doing her business and washing her hands, Sasha looked up from the sink and assessed herself in the mirror, noticing the changes in her appearance since losing Bucky. Her skin, always the color of cream mixed in with coffee, looked paler than usual, though she supposed that was because of how little sunlight she'd gotten since she'd been shot in the leg; working it back up to full strength hadn't allowed for many walks. There was also her hair: long, dark, and curly, though substantially frizzy, which would have been caused by Pietro's speed running whilst she was on his back _and_ being manhandled into a car by Bucky. For a moment she let herself wonder if her captor would comply with a request for hair ties so that she could do something about it before shaking her head and catching a look at her eyes. If she were being honest? They looked empty. They looked hollow and sad.

Shaking it off and trying not to look too closely again, Sasha let out a slight whisper as she stared generally at her reflection in the mirror. "You guys there?" she asked quietly, praying Bucky wouldn't hear her through the door. "You haven't said anything since I turned audio back on."

There was a moment of silence where she thought she'd somehow damaged her communication device, and then Clint's voice responded, "I mean, Steve's been wanting to yell at you this whole time for being reckless, but Nat and I figured that would distract you. She took him out of the room to calm him down."

"Thank god," Sasha breathed. That definitely would've cause her to fuck up, if at least a little bit. "How you guys holding up?"

"The question here is how are _you_ holding up? Are you doing okay?" It made her strangely happy to know that Clint held concern for her, although she wasn't sure whether it mattered that any decent human would be concerned about her situation.

Sighing, Sasha shrugged at herself in the mirror, still unable to stop lingering on how terribly melancholy she looked. "Oh, you know, Clint; I'm doing about as okay as a girl can be when she's being held captive by her brainwashed boyfriend. He's only threatened to throw me out of a moving car about three times, I don't think he appreciates my taste in music. For some reason he insists on only playing the country station? I mean, he never really even listened to music when he was with me, but he _sure_ as hell wasn't listening to country." All of which was true. Bucky had seemed to take interests in modern artists like Bastille and other bands Sasha would label as indie and hipster, but had encouraged his preferences and had been pleasantly surprised at his taste in music.

He hadn't ever shown _any_ interest in country, though, which was why Sasha had been confused as fuck when he'd insisted on playing it in the car. Maybe a fondness for country music was some sort of mandatory Hydra thing; Sasha had no god damned clue.

Clint sounded thoroughly confused, though not unamused. "As long as having to sit through that is the worst thing he's making you do, I can't complain." Then there was a pause, a loaded one, and her friend's tone switched from lighthearted to dead serious. "So, if you could be real with me for just a second: do we need to come get you?"

Sasha didn't have to ask Clint to clarify his meaning, as she really wasn't thick enough to have misunderstood that. "I don't even know where I am, Clint," she told him, "and honestly? There's no telling what Bucky would do if you guys tried to ambush us. He's willing to shoot to kill; they didn't give him orders not to kill me."

"Which is what's fucking _weird_ ," Clint retorted. "I've gone over every possible reason in my mind, but I have no idea what their game is right now; none of us do." There was another hesitation before he continued with, "And, you know, uh, Stark... may or may not have stuck a tracker on you?"

Of _course_ he had. Just before sending Sasha out, Tony had made the suggestion of adding a tracker to the comms device. He'd been sure it was an excellent idea, but Sasha had declined it, thinking of the worst case scenario. In the event that she was found out and Bucky actually discovered her small advantage, she at least wanted to be able to claim no one knew where she was. That way, even if he felt the need to kill her, he'd feel less inclined to go after everyone in Stark Tower. Sasha liked to believe that she had her priorities straightened out, but of course that didn't mean jack shit when it came to Tony Stark's whims.

"Don't," Sasha warned, crossing her arms at her own reflection. It was all she could hope for that the testy look she was shooting herself had the same affect on Clint as it would in person. "Clint Barton, I am _trusting_ you to talk them all out of coming after me. I can't have that; Bucky will either fight or run, and either one will delay Wanda regardless."

"Do you know how hard it's gonna be to get them all on board that train of thought? I don't even know if that's a possibility. Pietro made it back with Calix and Rosella - we're placing them under government care, by the way, so they'll be protected - but Pietro insists that you're in danger, and your siblings aren't helping much. We're all pretty much split down the middle right now as to what to do about you."

For some reason, that bugged the _shit_ out of her. So maybe she was in a dangerous situation; so _what?_ They'd all been in plenty of those themselves. Granted, Sasha wasn't exactly trained for this type of thing, but she was practically positive that she'd be able to handle it. There might have been a soviet master assassin sniper with a bionic arm and seventy years training waiting for her outside that bathroom door, but he was still _Bucky_. The man out there was still hers, still the one she loved, and the same man who'd promised to take care of her. Now it was time for Sasha to repay his promise and take care of _him_.

"You tell them they can come for me if they want," she let out, clenching her jaw, "obviously you can't stop them. But so help me god, if they come for me before I say I'm ready, I won't go willingly. I'll stand behind Bucky while he fights them all off, do you hear me? I am bringing him home, and I will do it my way. No one else's. Understood?"

"Loud and clear," Clint sighed. It was easy to imagine him closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "You've been in here too long; go and get back to him before he gets suspicious, yeah?"

"Yeah. Bye, Clint."

"Take care of yourself," was his only response.

Now that she thought about it, Clint was right; she _had_ been talking to him a bit too long. Her companion had told her, albeit sarcastically, to take as long as she needed but there must have been an expected amount of time. There were bound to be questions from Bucky, but to escape detection she was going to need a solid cover, one she could stick to. But what would that even _be?_

 _Okay, think,_ she snapped at herself in her thoughts. _What's a reasonable excuse for taking so long? What will he be unable to question?_

And the answer struck her like lightning from the sky.

Going back to flush the toilets again quickly and pausing to splash some water on her face from the sink, just to give the illusion of sweat, Sasha let her breath grow laborious and hunched over, cradling her stomach as though she were in great pain. Taking a deep breath and hoping she'd picked up enough from the acting majors she'd known at school, she pushed the door to the bathroom open and staggered out, making sure to keep her back against the wall.

Unfortunately, Bucky was already against the wall where she tried to place herself. That wouldn't have been a problem if she had been expecting it, but it ultimately ended up getting her freaked out, causing her to let out a shrill cry and trip forward over her feet with about as much grace as a newborn duck.

Well, shit. She hadn't exactly planned on eating concrete today. Squeezing her eyes shut, Sasha braced herself for the painful impact of the ground against her face-

And was instead met with a sturdy arm wrapping around her torso, hand splaying across her stomach as it balanced and kept her from pitching forward any further. Sasha tried not to dwell too much on the warmth from the hand seeping in through the thin cotton of her shirt as she felt Bucky pull her back to an upright position, then let got of her as he urged her back around to face him. Aside from that little accident being embarrassing as fuck, she was still somewhat grateful she hadn't had to go through the ordeal of breaking her face.

When he didn't say anything, Sasha swallowed hard and mumbled out, "Thanks." Just when she was sure Bucky's presence wouldn't be a problem for her, when she had assumed she was totally used to him now, she became tongue tied. Perfect.

Luckily, her making a total idiot of herself wasn't his top priority. That specific honor fell to her cover, which was still, thank god, in place. "What's wrong now?" Good; that meant the performance was convincing enough.

"I threw up," Sasha whispered as she let her arms encircle herself again. Something she tended to do when she actually finished vomiting; subconsciously, it always sort of soothed her stomach to cradle it in her arms. Obviously it did nothing for her in her current state, but if physical actions were what she needed to make her alibi more convincing, she would _not_ hesitate to go the extra mile. "It's been happening a lot lately, I wouldn't worry about it."

That, at least, was true. For almost the past week and a half her body had been throwing up off and on throughout the day. Usually morning, of course, but the nausea would waver after the first time. There had been a few occasions at the tower, however, when she'd not been so fortunate.

Bucky tilted his head to the left, blinking a few times. Too late Sasha realized he must have been waiting for her to go on, and when she failed to comply he raised an eyebrow. "Is that all?"

Taken aback at the lack of concern or even empathy that was being displayed, Sasha's only response was to let out a startled, "Yeah?"

"We don't have time for this," he muttered. Apparently having no more patience for Sasha's excuses, Bucky grabbed her arm in a vice like grip and began leading her back to the car. Shame; she was actually really enjoying the fresh air and faded sunlight she was getting. Not that Bucky wasn't allowing her to ride with the window down - he didn't seem like he could care any less - but there was something she didn't like about not being able to see as the sunlight turned to moonlight. "You start feeling sick again, tell me. I'll stop the car so you can throw up without making a mess."

"Sorry to be such an inconvenience," she spat out, drinking in as much of the scenery as she could before he inevitably blindfolded her again. It was probably the ugliest rest stop area in the world, but she supposed she couldn't expect much from convenience sights along the eastern side of the country - at least, she assumed they were still in the east. There was honestly no way to gauge how much speeding her driver was doing, or in which direction he was going. Still, knowing she wouldn't be allowed to see for the next while made the crappy little park bench with multiple swear words carved into it and the abhorrent grey trash cans scattered about fairly beautiful. At least nobody could say she couldn't work with what she was given.

So of course her surprise was quite warranted when Bucky stuck her in the car and slammed her door shut without securing the blindfold around her eyes. She didn't want to ask about it, lest he change his mind. It would be unwise to question his actions, especially while her freedom of sight was on the line, and yet... the curiosity was just eating away at her too much to let it go. "You're not gonna blindfold me?"

Bucky side eyed her as he started up the car and began peeling out of the parking lot. "There's no need for it now. We're close enough to where we're going for it not to be a security threat. And I could just shoot you, if I really wanted to be sure."

Trying to ignore the unmistakable sound of laughter - which sounded suspiciously like Tony's - coming from her ear piece, Sasha rolled her eyes and ran a hand through her hair. If one thing was for sure, interacting with the personification of what seemed to be only the worst of Bucky's traits was getting easier and easier by the second. "Yeah," she responded, "I suppose you could."

Jesus Christ, was she in for a _long_ ride.

\--

"He said _what?_ " Steve roared, fingers gripping his shield so tightly that his knuckles went white. Clint tried not to flinch at the very unnecessary rise of volume while Tony continued cracking up, and he couldn't figure out if Tony was still laughing at what Bucky had said to Sasha or at Steve's reaction after Clint had relayed the exchange to him. Either way, the yelling and noise was unnecessary and made Clint want to literally stomp on his hearing aids.

"I don't think he was being serious," he tried to reassure Steve, bringing his hands up in a 'chill dude' manner, "it was probably just his weird attempt at humor."

"And you know what, Clint? That makes sense! Because this entire situation is a fucking _joke!_ " Trying not to take his tone too personally, Clint watched, almost _frightened_ , as Steve turned around to face Tony. He could have sworn he saw actual fire in the super soldier's gaze. "And what the hell are you laughing about, Stark? You're the one who got her into this!"

Tony's grin slid off his face almost immediately. Oh shit, this was so not what any of them needed. "You know, Rogers, if I remember all of this correctly, Sasha got herself into this mess the day she looked at Tall-Dark-And-Moody and decided to keep him. She was _also_ the one to call bullshit on your decision not to save her brother and his wife - who was _pregnant_ , by the way - and decided to do something about it. Excuse me for not wanting to treat a fully grown woman like a _child_."

While Clint didn't wholly agree with Tony, he did have to admit that Steve and Sam's reasoning for trying to keep Sasha from saving her siblings was a bit selfish. Steve hadn't wanted her to go for fear of what Bucky might do; Sam had an identical concern, multiplied by the fact that Sasha biologically his baby sister. It made _sense_ to Clint; if he had a surprise baby sister he'd probably do everything to keep her out of harm's way, but it would ultimately have to be her choice.

It just so happened that Sasha's choice went against what the two had wanted for her. That was all.

Fact of the matter aside, this had to be the first time Clint had ever seen Steve ready to legitimately throw Stark out a window.

"She's still a kid!" Steve all but screeched, throwing his shield down on the floor so as to ball his hands into fists. Clint's train of thought was stuck between ' _Fuck that noise'_ and _'I need an adult, where's Natasha_ ' and he really wasn't sure which one he should act upon. "She's barely an adult, and now she's being toted around on some road trip from hell because you encouraged and enabled her! Who the fuck gives a twenty year old a stun gun and a comms device and sends them off to fight an assassin?"

"The same kind of person who takes some sixty pound beanpole and injects them with a serum that's basically steroids and only has a fifty-fifty chance of being successful."

Well, shit. Clint hadn't even gone there in his mind, but Tony, it seemed, had absolutely _no qualms_ about calling Steve out on his hypocritical bullshit. Not that this was at all the same situation; it was hardly _anywhere_ close to World War II and Steve's circumstances, but he supposed the personal concepts were the same. Clint just really wished these two would stop fighting and start helping him monitor what was going on.

"You know what Stark, if it weren't for me-"

"Oh believe me, if it weren't for you, my father might actually have talked about anything else-"

"I was willing to give up my _life_ for this country-"

"Newsflash, Rogers, that doesn't exactly make you the mightiest person to walk the planet-"

"You guys wanna _shut up a minute?_ " Clint yelled at the both of them, gesturing violently towards the screens which allowed them to monitor Sasha. "In case you haven't noticed, there's a girl we're supposed to keep watch of. I don't know how that turned into whatever convoluted argument you're having now, but this ain't a wrestling match between Tin Can and Goldilocks, alright? So either be kind enough to shut the fuck up and help me watch or be courteous and get _out_."

The looks on their faces at his sudden outburst kind of made Clint proud. Steve looked a little lost and vaguely afraid, and Tony just seemed downright impressed. Well, good then. Those two needed a reminder that certain issues weren't always about them anyways.

"Did Barton just threaten to kick me out of my own lab?" he heard Tony ask out of the corner of his mouth.

Steve, reaching up to gingerly pat his hair, murmured back, "He called me _Goldilocks_."

Turning back to the screens, Clint couldn't help but feel a not so small satisfaction as he heard his companions finally quiet down and step slowly over to join him in watching what was going on.

\--

"Are... Are we in _Harlem?_ You made me go all the way out to Massachusetts just to bring me back to New York? And _Harlem?_ "

There was no answer from him, nor did she really expect one. Bucky, tightly gripping Sasha's arm, lead her into the small motel room, slamming the door behind them and forcefully pulled her to the couch, all but throwing her down. That sort of caught her off guard; after all that had happened, this was the first time he'd really been physical with her. Well, aside from holding a gun to her head to get Pietro to leave them.

For awhile he just stood there, staring her down. His gaze was so intent that she could practically feel the holes burning into her and she wondered what it was he was trying to do. Intimidate her? He didn't have to try for that one, and he knew it. Scare her? That was also something he was fairly accomplished in. So what was it that he wanted?

Finally, he began speaking. "I don't know you," he started, blue eyes piercing. Sasha felt a sudden pang at his words; it hurt more and more every time he said it. "I look at you and don't see anything recognizable. All I know about you is what I've studied of your file."

Sasha rolled her eyes, her defense mechanism of sarcasm coming into play. "I bet you use that on all the girls you kidnap and take back to shady motel rooms."

"Most of them don't even _make it_ to the shady motel room," Bucky shot back, not missing a beat. "Consider yourself lucky that there isn't a bullet in your brain right now."

"Yeah, because being forced into a motel room against my will by a master assassin who could still potentially kill me is way better than dead and over with." She didn't attempt to hide the fear in her voice; he'd probably know it was there anyway. "Why don't you just shoot me already, then? I mean, I'm sure you're just dying to-"

His hand shot out and grasped her chin, forcing her too look him in the eyes. Sasha winced out of assumption that he meant to hurt her, but if Bucky noticed, he didn't care enough to voice it. Instead, he lowered himself to her eye level, crouching in front of her. "Shut. Up."

And then he did something, something Sasha probably shouldn't have thought much of and yet couldn't help but think on in depth.

His hands, both of them, metal and flesh, find her cheeks, cupping them as he stares into her brown eyes with his blue ones. They're so gentle, so well meaning that Sasha can't figure out what to make of it. It was something he used to do a lot, when he was trying to be sincere or make her feel better or tell her he loved her, and his gentle touch was even still more puzzling. He could be rough; he knew he could, and there would be no one to stop him. So why did he insist on handling her like she was china glass?

After a few moments of that his palms moved away and his fingertips began dancing lightly along the skin of her face, along her cheekbones and temples and mouth, down to her throat, and back up. It reminded her of movies, when blind characters asked to feel a person's face so as to get an idea of what they looked like. It didn't quite make sense in this situation, however; Bucky could see perfectly fine, and wasn't even the Bucky she'd come to love. Why would he be acting like this if the assassination mindset was turned on?

Eventually Sasha involuntarily shivered, and so Bucky finally let his hands drop from her. He allowed a small smirk onto his face, and it almost looked like the same satisfied look he used to get on his face whenever he was able to get a rise out of her. It dropped, though, after a moment, and in place of it his expression became more serious. "I don't know you," Bucky stated again, raising his hand and sliding the metal fingers lightly against her face, "but I think I might have."

There was hope, Sasha realized. There was hope that he could remember, that he could return to the Bucky she knew. Looking at him then, she saw a sudden change. The way his mouth was set, the way he looked at her. It was not the same predatory gaze as when she first met the Winter Soldier, but something less sure, more confused.

If there was already a crack in the ice, how much harder would she have to hit to break it?

"Can I... ask you a question?" Sasha tried after a few moments.

Bucky tilted his head out of curiosity, but shrugged a shoulder. "I can't guarantee an answer." About what she expected, anyways.

"Why did you bring me here?" At the questioning expression on Bucky's face, Andrea tried to clarify. "It's just, you know where I live and where I work; you went through an awful lot of trouble to get me. You could've easily caught me in the diner or cornered me at home, so why'd you insist on taking me here from Massachusetts?"

At this, he drew his metal hand away from her and moved back to a standing position. There were a few seconds of debate on his face before he slowly turned, walked over to the nightstand and grabbed something, then came back. Two pieces of paper became lightly crinkled in his grasp.

Bucky offered her the papers, but didn't wait for her to look at them before explaining. "Hydra assigned me a new target," he stated, "and they wanted it taken care of as soon as possible."

Sasha looked down at the papers. One of them was a recent photo of her, taken maybe a week before she lost Bucky to Hydra, and the angle was such that she wouldn't have noticed anyone taking the picture. She tried to shake off how absolutely creepy that was and gave her attention to the second sheet of paper.

There wasn't much written there, but it certainly packed a punch. "Target: Alexandrea Pierce," she read aloud, knowing full well that he had the words memorized. "Instructions... Terminate."

"That's why I took you on a roundabout. They saw you as a threat," Bucky explained quietly, taking the sheets from her and setting them down on the couch beside her. That definitely explained why she hadn't seen a single other Hydra agent. "And so they wanted me to end you, but I... can't do that. Not yet. However, if I'm going to keep you alive, it's important that Hydra thinks you're dead, so I'm keeping you here for the next few days until I remember if I knew you."

"And if you don't?" Sasha knew the answer already, so she really wasn't sure why she asked. Maybe she just wanted to hear him say it.

Bucky shrugged, turning and heading for the door of the room. "Then I'll kill you."

And with that, he was gone, leaving Sasha unsure as to where it was he was going and giving her time to ponder everything that had happened and how maybe, just _maybe_ , there was still a chance that James Buchanan Barnes was trying to convince the Winter Soldier to spare her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one was a bit longer and I hope it turned out okay! I see that some of you are just an eensy bit concerned for these two, which makes me happy because that's what I was hoping for! Don't worry, though, because I'm not an author that believes in unhappy endings! But... Sasha and Bucky are gonna have to work for it!


	30. No Control

Ideas weren't something he was supposed to have or express; that was the very base foundation of his entire being. He had no thoughts, as what was in his head was not his to have ownership of, and he certainly wasn't supposed to question his higher ups. If anyone found out about what was happening he could fully expect to be decommissioned. Miss Kazakova had a backup plan in place for that event, he'd seen its cryogenic freeze chamber for himself. He wasn't irreplaceable, and he was aware.

That being said, this was probably the worst first idea he'd had. _Ever_.

He hadn't realized all the work that would be going into keeping Alexandrea hidden and alive. For one thing, he couldn't cause too much suspicion with everyone else. If anyone knew he was regaining even a small fraction of independent thought, they'd wipe him clean all over again and he was _not_ prepared to deal with that. Finding reasons to be kept off ice also proved challenging, but he could usually get away with claiming to be studying the files of the rest of his named targets residing in Stark Tower.

While that proved successful and turned out fine, Winter Soldier hadn't actually realized all of the work that went into being in charge of another person, and was assaulted with that annoying reality when he'd come back to visit her the next day.

"Alexandrea," he called, stepping into the motel room and swiftly shutting the door behind him. He'd gotten a less than impressed look from the desk clerk on his way in, but stripping himself of his weapons (the ones that were visible, at least, like the guns), covering his metal arm with long sleeves, and the large sum of money he'd paid to cover the room for a fair amount of time left him untouched. "Are you decent?"

There was a pause before she answered, prompting the Soldier to scan the room for her dark features. As far as motels went, the one he'd picked was agonizingly swathed in copious amounts of white in different shades. The walls were ivory, the carpet was off-white, the bedspread was eggshell; it really shouldn't have been a challenge to find her, and that proved true when he saw her sitting upright in front of the bed, legs stretched almost into her splits and one arm gracefully arcing over her head as her torso bent to the side.

As per usual, her answer was full of snark and bite. "Completely naked," she deadpanned, not bothering to come out of her strange position. "I'm totally indecent, you should go before this gets any more scandalous."

Paying no mind to her tone, Winter Soldier took a few steps forward and knelt down in front of her bent form, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the side of her face. He didn't understand what it was about the soft appearance of her warmly colored skin that compelled him to do it, nor did he really feel like giving in to the feeling again. Yesterday, touching her had been something of a self indulgence, a strange, secret desire; repeating that might give her the impression that she had some kind of power over him, and he needed to make it clear that that wasn't the case in the slightest. Instead, he kept his hands pressed against a knee and asked her, "What is it that you're trying to do?"

"Stretch," Alexandrea replied, bringing the hand suspended in the air down and around to grab at her opposite leg. "Which happens to be a bitch to pull off in jeans, so I would like to make a request for a change of clothes. And food. It's been over a day since the last time I've eaten."

Oh, right. He had to feed her. That was a thing.

How was he supposed to go about getting her a regular food source?

Never mind it.

"I'll figure something out," he told her, eyeing her legs as she switched their positions. "As for your clothing, I'll try and find a thrift store with something near your size, but that could take a little while."

Alexandrea rolled her eyes, then grabbed her heel with her foot and brought it next to her face. "I have a better idea. Why don't you just let me go home?"

"That's a security threat, you know that. They think you're dead; we need to keep it that way." Deciding that it didn't count if it was just to help her do her stretches correctly, he moved a hand forward and placed it against the back of her calf, pushing against it to straighten it out. "You're more flexible than that, Alexandrea."

Cheeks flaming red for some unknown reason, Alexandrea's eyes casted themselves downward and he heard her mumble, "You would know," under her breath.

That was curious. _Obviously_ he knew that; the girl had been dancing since she was in kindergarten, her file outlined it explicitly. Why would she be embarrassed that he point out her flexibility?

Putting it aside, he withdrew his hand from her leg and rose back to his feet, breathing deeply as he did so. Doing that caused him to breathe in Alexandrea's scent on the way up, which consisted of cinnamon and vanilla. It had enveloped him while they were in the car, but in all truth it was fairly pleasant, so he wouldn't say anything negative towards it.

He really needed to stop this. First it was the feel of her skin, then it was the scent of her.

What would be next?

"Wait," Alexandrea called out as he began backing away and towards the door. Turning to look, he found that she was scrambling to stand, head only barely reaching his shoulder and arms crossing. It was a bit peculiar that she attempted to look defiant and uninterested while obviously feeling hesitant, but he supposed he may as well respect her for putting the effort forth. "Where are you going?"

A shorter answer would probably annoy her enough to knock the alluring qualities off her face, and so that was what he tried for. "You said you were hungry."

Instead of the desired effect, his words merely caused her to bite her lip and reach forward with her hand before she realized what she was doing and stopped herself. Ah. So she felt it too.

"And after that? Are you just going to drop off food and then leave me alone again?" Why was it that she said the word 'alone' as though it were her deepest fear?

If he was confused before, he understood perfectly now; Alexandrea wanted something from him. It wasn't clear what, exactly, but he was sure he could figure it out with some conversational prodding. "Were you expecting something else?" Apparently that had been the incorrect thing to ask, because her expression shifted from only mildly concerned to downright pissed off in a matter of seconds.

"Yeah, actually," Alexandrea snapped, setting her jaw and visibly making an effort not to raise her voice. "You brought me here to try figuring out if you knew me, but how the hell are you supposed to remember me if you just ditch me here? You're gonna, what, pop by once a day and leave ten minutes later? That's not gonna get us anywhere and it's _bullshit_ , Barnes."

While she had a point, he really only viewed one thing in particular from that whole mini-tirade as important. "Barnes?" he let fall from his mouth, not bothering to conceal the pure confusion in his voice. Not many things caught him off guard, but that... _that_ was one of the few exceptions. "Why are you calling me Barnes?"

"Well, because-" Alexandrea cut herself off upon getting another look at his face, anger melting away in favor of concern again. It was impressive, how quickly she managed to switch between so many in such a short amount of time. He wondered what it must have been like, and whether it was a favorable trait to have. "You mean... you don't know?"

Well, of _course_ he knew about Barnes. He just wasn't sure why she had called him by someone else's name. "I read about him in your file," he answered her simply, "you're romantically involved with him, correct? He was listed as your largest vulnerability."

Alexandrea took in a deep breath, and that time she actually did let her hand come out and rest gently against his chest. It was oddly warmer than he'd been expecting, but perhaps that was due to the fact that he was so rarely in physical contact with another person.

"The file isn't wrong," she murmured, looking him in the eyes. Her irises, a deep, dark brown, had a certain property about them that made him believe he might be able to stare into them for hours if he so chose. Clearly he hadn't the time, but maybe at some point. "Why don't you go out and take care of what you were going to, and then maybe when you get back... maybe I could try and jog your memory?"

That sounded as though it would be something _completely_ against his protocol. Alexandrea's terminology was vague; she could have meant anything under the sun by that statement, and his superiors would not be happy with him playing along. He'd surely face punishment, and that could lead to-

But... _he_ was in charge here, wasn't he? This was _his_ situation to control. He had no superiors here; he was his own, and he would be the one to look after himself and her. It was his to decide, whether or not he should indulge her, and perhaps knowing that it was all under him caused him to act a bit... rash.

"I think... I think that would be suitable," he muttered, bringing his hand up to grasp hers and move it away from his chest. He held it a bit longer than he had to, only because he figured indulging in that moment would make the want easier to ignore later on, and then dropped it.

"You _think?_ " Alexandrea asked quietly, oddly breathless in an astonished way. Why was it that she sounded so caught off guard? And so _constantly?_

Rolling his eyes, he began turning back towards the door of the room again. Something had settled over him, a sort of spell that made the idea of being kind and polite appealing. It had been easy in those few seconds that he'd held her hand to want a softness with Alexandrea that he'd never shared or desired with anyone before, to want to... there was something specific. He might have been able to pinpoint exactly what it was if he kept her hand in his grasp, but to feel those things was a very dangerous habit. As soon as he had let her hand drop the thoughts and wants went away, as though some switch was being flipped, and he was almost positive that it would be less of a hazard for everyone involved if he refrained from repeating the motions.

It was time to become cold again.

"It's _fine_ ," he snapped, hand coming forward to grasp the doorknob. "I'll bring you food. Maybe clothes, _if_ I find something."

As he opened the door and stepped out, he found that he couldn't resist turning back to look at Alexandrea, who was standing and looking like an injured doe, before adding, "And I was here for _twelve_ minutes, by the way. Not ten."

\--

Wanda's job was going to be fairly easy. James Barnes might have been brainwashed into an emotionless shell, Alexandrea may have been provoking him, and the two of them might have been too far away for Wanda to reach them in time to stop anyone from being killed, but those were minor setbacks at worst. Just observing the two of them proved how easy it would be to break the brainwashing. Hell, in a best case scenario, Sasha would be able to handle it herself.

Because Wanda saw the man beneath the metaphorical armor, and she was twice as sure that Sasha saw him as well. There was a certain tenderness in his gaze that Wanda noticed as he looked at Sasha, as well as a desire he more than likely viewed as foreign when touching her face. That particular detail of their interactions was what was most promising, because although it was clear that the soldier was confused, it was evident that he _wanted_ Sasha. At this point, it was just a matter of getting him to realize it.

And because it was Wanda and Pietro's turns to keep track of the events that went on between the two of them, it would be the time to encourage Sasha to take whatever means necessary to push James over the edge - mainly because Steve and Sam weren't there to put a stop to it, as they would be out to pick up lunch.

"Well Pierce," Wanda heard Pietro chuckle to the screen in front of the two of them. Sasha had been gracious enough to relocate to the motel bathroom and look into the mirror, giving the twins a look at her for the first time since they'd started their watch. Wanda couldn't help but notice how bedraggled Sasha looked compared to the last time she'd seen her, and felt a small pang of guilt for no apparent reason. "You definitely know how to send a man running."

"Got you to run, didn't I?" Sasha retorted, crossing her arm and arching an eyebrow. "Please tell me they didn't leave you in charge of me."

Wanda laughed at the snappy sarcasm, finding it refreshing that someone would talk to her brother in such a way. Most people took Pietro far more seriously than they should have. "I wouldn't dream of leaving you alone with my brother again, I know what a pain he can be."

"Why are you taking her side?" Pietro complained, throwing his arms up in the air. The motion made him look so much like a child that Wanda actually forgot for a moment that he was her twin and not her younger brother. It was strange how often that tended to happen, and especially because Pietro was always reminding her that he'd been born twelve minutes before she had. Funny how that was true while Wanda had always had to take control as the more responsible sibling.

"Because you're being immature," Wanda retorted, rolling her eyes and glancing back at the screen. Sasha had taken to twirling a piece of her hair between her fingers and was smiling softly at Wanda's small argument with Pietro. Good. The girl deserved a smile for the situation she was in. "Sasha, how are you doing?"

In response, Sasha shrugged at her reflection, making a sort of 'I don't know' noise. "I'm fine for the most part. It's like I told Bucky, I'm just hungry and in need of a change of clothes. Also, he could have been nice enough to stick me somewhere other than some rundown motel in _Harlem_ , but I mean, I'm alive. Guess I can't complain too much."

Alright. So she was tired, uncomfortable, maybe even a bit anxious, but those weren't things Wanda couldn't work with. Perhaps if she worded her proposition correctly, she could convince Sasha to go just a little further outside of her comfort zone. And, if she was lucky, hopefully Pietro wouldn't blow up on her too badly for the idea.

"Oh, god," Pietro sighed, crossing his arms and looking Wanda straight in the eyes. _Shit_. Looks like it wasn't her lucky day after all. "I know that face, I'm pretty sure I know what you're thinking, and no."

"What?" Sasha asked, confused at the conversation gap. "I wasn't even thinking anything bad, what's your damage?"

"Not you, smartass, my sister. I get the feeling she's had an idea you're going to stupidly agree to."

"You know what, it's not even that bad," Wanda defended herself, albeit hesitantly. How exactly did one go about employing damage control when the damage wasn't even done yet? Time to find out. "And you really shouldn't go around calling people stupid. It's rude."

Pietro rolled his eyes. "This is the same girl who willingly let a super soldier assassin put a gun to her head and drag her out of the house, I think I'm allowed to say that was a stupid thing to do." Despite the sarcasm and general lack of politeness in his tone, Wanda could tell that his worry for Sasha's safety, affected by her choices, was serious. At least she could give her brother that much credit.

"Saved your ass, if I remember correctly," Sasha muttered, eyes glancing down at the sink.

This conversation was not starting out in the way Wanda had wanted it to, and if she didn't get the ball rolling, she'd miss her opportunity. It would be best to get on that before the two could argue any further.

"Pietro, don't be childish," she chastised, side eyeing her brother. "What's done is done, let it go. That being said... Sasha? You told James you wanted to help jog his memory."

The camera panned back up to Sasha's reflection again, meaning that Wanda had gained her full attention. "Well- I mean, yeah. He doesn't even... He doesn't even know he's _Bucky_. He talks as if he's a wholly separate person. Of course I want to help him remember himself."

That didn't exactly surprise Wanda, to be honest. No way in hell would Hydra be satisfied in simply taking the man's memories; no, they'd need to take the whole identity, just to solidify his objectivity. From what Sasha had told the twins, James had mentioned something about how they completely stripped him of his humanity while in this state, but Wanda supposed it was one thing to listen to your romantic partner's past tortures and a completely different thing to have to watch them relive the horrifying reality.

For another moment, Wanda hesitated, glancing between the monitor screen and Pietro's vaguely disapproving expression. Figured. He didn't even know what he was disapproving of, but that wasn't stopping him from expressing himself. "So. Um. What if I asked you to try something specific? Something I think might work?"

"Wanda, I swear to god," Pietro muttered under his breath. She made a violent 'shush' gesture at him, to which he responded with a middle finger.

"What exactly did you have in mind?" Sasha questioned, hesitantly but curiously. It was evident that her interest was piqued.

Well. Better to rip the bandage off all at once.

Once Wanda had managed to spit the idea out of her mouth, the hard part was over. Getting through the reactions she would be met with was the hard part, and unsurprisingly? Her brother was the one that ended up freaking out.

"You can't be fucking serious!" Pietro all but shouted, throwing his hands up in the air. "Are you _trying_ to kill her?"

"I wouldn't ask her to do it if I didn't think it would work, Pietro, you know that!" Damage control. _So much_ damage control was needed. "And it was just a thought. She obviously doesn't have to do it if she doesn't want to." Though it would certainly be advantageous for the attempt to at least be made, just so Wanda could gauge how much power it might end up taking to restore the man locked in his cage in the event that her idea didn't work.

"You guys don't need to talk about me like I'm not there," Sasha muttered, aiming a halfhearted glare at her reflection. "I think I'm capable of making decisions for myself."

Bingo. Right there. Sasha didn't want to be told how to handle this situation, which was something Wanda had noticed since the day they'd met. The subject of James Barnes was a touchy one, more than likely because Sasha felt that his relapse into the Winter Soldier mindset was her fault. James had essentially traded his life for hers; it was what anyone who was truly in love with their partner would have done in such a heated moment, but the girl had a nasty habit of taking all the blame for herself. Despite the fact that Wanda may not have felt right using those facts to her advantage, she knew damn well that Pietro lacked the manipulation skill to sway Sasha in his favor.

Which, fortunately for her, was made evident more quickly than she could have hoped.

"Listen, Pierce," Pietro let out, anger barely contained. Wanda shouldn't have felt the satisfaction that she did in knowing the direction this exchange was going to go, but really, it was for the better. For Sasha and James's sakes. "The last time you made your own decision, you walked right into his plan!"

"Yeah, to save you and my siblings," Sasha snapped, rolling her eyes. "What was I supposed to have done? Let him shoot you all so that he could take me anyways?"

"Better that than stupidly putting yourself in a dangerous situation that you refuse to be taken out of!"

Okay, so maybe he was definitely a little more pissed off about that than Wanda had initially thought. That day that Sasha had gone with James, Pietro had arrived back at the tower with Calix and Rosella. Everyone had been swarming trying to make sure the two civilians of the situation were okay, but Wanda had seen her twin's face. The anger he'd displayed upon coming back, jaw tight and eyes fiery was astonishing. He'd done nothing but rant about how rash Sasha had been, how it seemed as though she was almost eager for James to take her, and how it pissed him off that she was so quick to put herself in danger. Looking back, that may have been slightly true, but Wanda supposed it was understandable.

It wasn't exactly a shock that Sasha would want to do everything she could to save her boyfriend. From what Natasha had shared about their relationship, James Barnes had been many of Sasha's first experiences and the two had been deeply taken with each other. Sasha herself had alluded to that fact, with the way she spoke of him while recounting their falling in love and being ripped away from their happiness so harshly, and Wanda had decided for herself that if a girl could fall in love so swiftly and painlessly with a man who did everything he could to make sure that girl remained cherished then saving Barnes was definitely worth a shot. It may have also been to their advantage to keep the Winter Soldier out of play, which was just another reason to get Barnes back. Saving him would effectively kill two birds with one stone.

"You know what, Maximoff?" God, this was getting super tense. If Wanda had understood correctly, Sasha and Pietro had been fast friends. She knew that Pietro was only acting the way he was because he held a slight fondness for Sasha on account of the friendship they'd kindled on their journey to Massachusetts, but her twin happened to be lacking in the social skills which would allow him to express himself correctly and without offense. "I am so _sick_ of being treated like a child! First it's Steve, then it's Sam, now _you_ , and I am _done!_ This is _bullshit!_ You're not my Dad! Both of mine are fucking dead, you're not in charge of me, and I can do what I want! I might be 'stupidly putting myself in danger' if that's how you want to word it, but I'm doing whatever the fuck it takes to save the guy I love! Maybe the universe might have royally fucked me over by giving me someone who's outside of his own god damned century and making him an _assassin_ on top of that, but he's still _mine_ , I still _love_ him, and I would _die_ for him! He wouldn't want me to, but I would! So do you _really think_ that I give a shit about what your punk ass thinks is safe? Do I _look_ like I'm fucking around right now? Do I _seem_ like I wouldn't try anything to get him back?"

No. No way in hell. With the fiery glare she was stabbing her reflection with and the set jaw and gritted teeth? Sasha Pierce looked like a woman ready to raze hell, and Wanda didn't doubt for a second that that was true.

Pietro had been stunned into silence, eyes wide and mouth agape. It didn't happen often, and Wanda found herself appreciating Sasha's personality the more she listened to the girl talk. How impressive this girl was; Wanda really hoped she made it out of her predicament alive.

"So," Wanda murmured, letting her eyes drift past Pietro and to the golden sunlight streaming through the windows of Tony's lab. "You'll try it then?"

"Yeah, I will." There was a conscious effort on her part to soften her voice while addressing the twin she wasn't put off with. Wanda almost had the heart to find that humorous. "Worth a shot at least. I don't know how long he'll be gone, but I think I'm gonna have to talk myself up for a little while. So, if you'll excuse me, there's a certain soldier I need to talk myself into kissing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, I know it's been a long time! Just finished up band camp and junior year starts next week, so bear with me for a little while! I promise I'm constantly writing, so it's not that I'm being lazy, it's just that these twelve hour color guard practices are actually insaaaaane. I've got a couple of days off now though, so I'm gonna do my best to get what I can done! Thanks for being patient and I hope you enjoyed :)


	31. I Know Places

"I'm back," Bucky announced, throwing the door open and kicking his leg back to shut it once he was inside. Sasha snapped up immediately, the small blanket of calm she'd managed to weave for herself disappearing like a cloud of smoke. It had been easy to give herself a false sense of security after excusing herself from the conversation she'd had with Wanda and Pietro, to talk herself up and convince herself that she could do it. Now that Bucky was back, however? Not so easy anymore. "Not that you'd be excited about that."

There were several ways she could have responded to that; she took the easy way out. "That was fast." No sense in sassing him if she was going to work up to planting one on him, that was for sure. Regular Bucky would have more than likely found it cute. Brainwashed Bucky was a completely different story.

He strode forward swiftly, and Sasha only noticed the various bags in his hands right before he set all of them neatly down in front of the foot of the bed aside from one. "I'd like to think that I shouldn't be any less efficient at shopping than at what I've been trained for. Here." Handing her the one bag, he further explained, "I brought you food. There should be enough in there for now and for dinner, and I'll bring something for you in the morning."

Well that was... unexpected.

Arching an eyebrow, Sasha gingerly pulled the bag open, peering inside. The scent hit her almost immediately, and once she was able to identify exactly what it was, she looked up at Bucky in disbelief. "You, uh... you got me chicken carbonara?"

It shouldn't have caught her as off guard as it did; in all honesty, the pasta dish was a fairly common meal, especially with how many Italian restaurants one could find in the state of New York. Sasha was finding it all the time, had been noticing it on menus since she was old enough to pay attention to those types of things. Chicken carbonara. Really, the food itself was insignificant, but what it represented was hope.

Oh, Jesus H. Christ. She knew it was getting bad when she started equating Italian food of all things to hope. Obviously Sasha enjoyed pasta as much as the next person, but there had to be boundaries.

Regardless, it wouldn't have mattered if she hadn't _explicitly_ told Bucky that chicken carbonara was practically her favorite thing to eat the day after he'd stayed at her apartment for the first time. Back then he'd been extremely hesitant to share any personal information with her, which she understood now, but her initial reaction had been to present him with a myriad of facts about herself to pressure him into doing the same. Needless to say, it hadn't exactly worked out the way she'd hoped it would, and as their relationship progressed Sasha hadn't thought that Bucky would remember any of those things she's prattled off about herself. Of course he would have; he was _Bucky_ , and that was why she was so excited.

He'd told her in fine detail that, as the Winter Soldier, he remembered nothing of his previous life. Maybe it wasn't a conscious effort on his part, but it _did_ mean that his memories were somewhere locked inside that head of his. It meant he remembered her well enough to subconsciously know what she liked to eat; why wouldn't it mean that he could eventually remember what they were to each other?

Bucky had no such thoughts of revelation displayed on his face. Instead, he simply narrowed his eyes at her in confusion. "You don't have any food allergies. There shouldn't be a problem with you eating it."

"No, no," she insisted, a small smile etching onto her face. _Of course_ that would be the first conclusion he would end up jumping to. "Nothing like that." Then, because they fell into an intensely strange silence following that, she gestured to the foot of the bed. "What, um, what's all of that?"

With a hand, Bucky gestured back at her. "Weren't you complaining about how hungry you were the last time I was here? It's why I went out in the first place. Eat."

For some reason, his response reminded her of the day she and him had first kissed, when he'd been angry with her for standing and walking while she should have been on bed rest. Maybe it was just the mothering tone he was taking up with her. Even as the Winter Soldier, that must have been ingrained in Bucky's very being. Fucking figured. Whether he was brainwashed or not, Sasha's boyfriend was basically the mother of mother hens. "Is there some weird reason we can't multitask?"

"There's no reason to. You eat. I'll show you. It isn't hard to follow." He motioned for her to begin eating with one hand and knelt down to reach into one of the bags afterward. Which, of course, left Sasha with no choice but to pick up the plastic fork in the bag and begin eating, because _Jesus_ did that pasta smell amazing.

After inhaling the first couple of bites and trying not to look as though she was as desperate for food as she actually felt, Sasha took a few breaths to settle herself down before continuing. It wasn't like she was legit starving, so she technically didn't have a need to reintroduce herself to food, but eating too fast would give her a massive stomachache, and if there _really_ was something she didn't need it would be that. A brainwashed boyfriend who liked sassing her like no other, fine. But an unnecessary sick feeling could fuck right off. The strange nausea she'd been feeling for the last few weeks was actually beginning to lighten up, but she wasn't about to push her limits by scarfing down food that she'd be really upset if it made her sick, as it would be hard to enjoy it again.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Bucky - _shocker_ \- who had placed a few piles of clothing on the bed in front of her. "I visited a store with a pretty large selection. I found what I could in your size, so everything should fit relatively fine. Wasn't sure about exactly what you wanted, so you'll just have to deal with what I brought."

The fact that he made that sound like a bad thing was pretty much hilarious, because from what Sasha could see? He'd gone out of his way for nice clothing. There were comfy clothes she'd requested, sweat pants and camisoles and such, but she could also see jeans, black, blue, bejeweled, all sorts of different fits. There was also a variety of shirts, ranging anywhere from t-shirts to long sleeves to blouses to tank tops. Those came in sets of colors as well, though they were primarily sea green and lilac, with the exception of black and the odd color out here and there. Mainly, though, they were pastels; shades Bucky had enjoyed seeing her wear back when he'd been himself.

Gingerly placing the tray of pasta aside, she made sure her hands were clean before reaching to pluck up a flowing pink shirt. The sleeves were sheer and draped down her arms, while the neckline would scoop down maybe halfway down her chest. All Sasha could think about was how she had a similar one back at her apartment in white; it might even have been the same brand.

The shirt she was holding now was pretty much a replica of the one she'd worn on their first real date, and if that wasn't Bucky's subconscious reaching out to remember her, then Sasha didn't know what else it was.

"These are..." What was she supposed to say? What could she possibly say to him about this? "You picked some, uh, really nice clothes."

"Well I can't exactly have you looking like a tragedy, now can I?"

Right, okay, there went that moment.

Before she could help it, Sasha let slip, "Bucky Barnes, that mouth of yours is gonna get you in a _whole_ lot of trouble."

A little faster than Sasha actually had the capability of tracking, Bucky's hand shot out to grab her chin, fingers gently but forcibly pushing it up so that she would be made to meet his eyes. In a way it was sort of surreal; the action was something that Bucky used to do often. "You keep calling me that. Why do you keep calling me that?"

If Sasha remembered correctly, the last time someone had called Bucky by his name while he was brainwashed had experienced an unpleasant outburst of anger. Steve had managed to survive, considering he was trained to deal with lethal people such as Bucky, but had woken up in the hospital. Should she really be reenacting that situation when her chances of survival were less?

Then again, her chances of death in this situation were probably about 99.999%. She may as well just take the risk so that if she actually _did_ end up surviving, she could reflect back on her life and think, 'Yep. My homicidal maniac of a boyfriend didn't actually kill me. Bless his soul.'

Bucky, having no patience for her pondering, dropped her chin and settled for clamping his hands on her shoulders instead. Perhaps he didn't factor the strength of his bionic arm into the motion because once he squeezed tears automatically sprung to her eyes, but she didn't have time to worry much about those. " _Why_ do you keep calling me that? Answer me!"

God, she really was about to chance it, wasn't she? Taking a deep breath and blinking hard, Sasha met her boyfriend's beautiful, ocean blue eyes before whispering, "Because that's your name. Your name is James Barnes, but you prefer to be called Bucky. And, um... you loved me, I think. And I loved you. A lot."

Surprisingly, Bucky didn't freak out the way Sasha thought he would. He didn't start yelling at her, or become violent with her, nothing like that. Sure, he looked at her like she was completely out of her mind and that what she had said was definitely fake, but that wasn't totally unexpected.

"I... That's incorrect," he stated plainly, shaking his head and squinting his eyes at her. "I don't have a name. I'm not a person, and James Barnes was removed from the situation almost two months ago." So he had some doubts. That was to be expected she supposed, especially because of the fact that she had no idea what sorts of information and knowledge Hydra had managed to shove down his throat before he'd come to find her.

Okay, so maybe she should just... push her cause a little bit. Couldn't hurt anything by much, could it? She was already staring down an assassin capable of offing her in two seconds flat if he felt like it, so there shouldn't be much cause to worry about amping up the possibility that Bucky might actually decide to kill her.

For two seconds Sasha wanted to smile out of a sort of dark amusement. She didn't know whether it was Pietro, Tony, or Steve, but somebody was probably screaming at the monitor for her to back off at this very moment. If Tony hadn't incorporated the button that allowed her to mute her feed coming from the tower, she probably would have had a blown eardrum by now.

 _Tough shit, guys,_ she thought.

"Look," Sasha began, choosing her words cautiously. Just because she could _potentially_ die didn't mean she actually _wanted_ to. "You remember what you told me about why I'm here, don't you? About how you felt like you knew me and how you wanted to try remembering me?"

Amazingly enough, that time around Bucky didn't actually look like he should for some reason feel vaguely threatened by her words. "Of course I do, it was two days ago."

Yeah, she was aware. It was why she brought it up. "So you admit that you had to have been a person before this, right? To have known me at all means you have to have had a life before, and feelings. Feelings like love. Do you agree with that?"

Checkmate, bitch.

Bucky's face, still so strangely beautiful to Sasha in this numbed state, experienced a brief flash of serious contemplation. It was so unfair, in her opinion, how much he looked like the same person as before they'd taken him from her. For some reason, when Bucky used to tell her stories of what it had been like to experience life as he did now, she had pictured him looking more harsh than what he did, angrier, substantially more so. The fact that he still affected her in the ways that he used to, with his beauty and voice, his touch, and the extremely rare and ironic smile he would offer her in this state, was almost too much to handle. It kind of made her think that kissing him would be dangerous not for what she immediately thought it would be, but for entirely new ones that had only just popped up.

Oh, and shit. She was supposed to kiss him.

"That... sounds logical enough," Bucky grudgingly let slip, narrowing his eyes. "What's your endgame here, Miss Pierce?"

Wow, he was... _much_ closer to her face than he had been a few seconds ago. If ever there was a time to pull something, it would be in this moment, when his face was gentle, his hands on her shoulders, and he wouldn't immediately try to like, maim her for a quick movement. Still, for some reason, it felt undeniably dangerous, and if it was going to take place, she was going to need to take as much precaution as possible.

Sasha hadn't felt the highly concentrated sensation of butterflies in her stomach as strongly as she was since the time she'd managed to ask a guy to her senior prom. Or, maybe she should try and find a different comparison; if this moment turned out anything like her senior prom, she was pretty much fucked.

Preparing Bucky for something out of the ordinary would be necessary. It wouldn't do to tell him specifically what her plan was, but she was sure he could deal.

Instead of answering Bucky's question, she proposed one of her own. Subtly. At least, she hoped it had been subtle. "Would you mind very much if I tried something to help?" she questioned, teeth catching her bottom lip in the middle of an awkward pause. "Something that might jog your memory, if we're lucky?"

Yep. Can't go wrong with asking for consent.

If she were being honest, though, the look on his face was so suspicious and calculative that Bucky probably thought she was trying to work out how to stab him in the throat. "What is it that you want to do?"

"I can't tell you. I just, I'm gonna need you to trust me on this one."

"Alexandrea, how stupid do you think I am? If you're trying to run-"

"I mean, it's really not like I'm gonna get very far with your hands clamped on my shoulders-"

"For all I know, you could try to-"

" _Look_ ," she spat out, much more forcefully than she thought she had the power to. Even Bucky looked surprised, and was actually shocked into silence by her behavior. "I'm not running. I told you that you were the guy I loved, didn't I? I wouldn't leave you like that. Just like you never did to me. You're too important. Now _trust me_ , god damn it, and let me _do_ this."

Though his eyebrows rose in further surprise, that didn't hinder Bucky responding. "What do we need to do?" _They_ didn't need to do anything. This was all on her.

If he didn't like the phrase 'trust me' then he sure as hell wasn't gonna like what came next. "I need you to close your eyes."

Bucky's face grew suspicious again; surprise, surprise. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were getting ready to try and catch me off guard." Technically she was, just not in the way he was thinking. So he was right, but he also had _no_ idea.

"Well then it's a good thing you aren't in danger of dropping your guard, isn't it?" Where was the back talk coming from? She'd been scared shitless about the prospect of this moment just a little while ago; how was it that she'd managed to shift from mildly frightened to annoyed and sassy? And why was it _working?_

Bucky leaned his head forward after a second or two of internal debate displayed clearly on his face, lips coming just before her ear. For a second she thought he was about to take the interaction in a completely different direction, but all he did was murmur in her ear. "I'll do this for you, because I said I'd let you help, but I swear to god, I will kill you if you try to fight or run."

"Noted," Sasha murmured, staying still as a statue as he drew his face back from hers. "Now close your eyes and stay still. Please trust me when I say I'm not trying to hurt you."

"There you go again, with that word," Bucky sighed. Nevertheless, he complied with Sasha's wishes and closed his eyes, remaining perfectly still and waiting for the next step.

Hands shaking much harder than she would have liked, Sasha let her palms come up and placed them, slowly, into Bucky's cheeks. She waited to see if he would do anything, if he would immediately stop this and rip away from her, or start yelling, or something else he might've done, but he just remained completely still. The feel of him was just as she remembered it to be, though his face was slightly stubbly; she supposed he didn't have much time for shaving now that he was, well, the Winter Soldier again, or even if he cared about those types of things in this state of mind.

Almost involuntarily, as tears began welling in her eyes, Sasha murmured, "I love you... _so much_. More than you could know." A little while ago the prospect of this moment had been scary to her; now it was just hard. She missed him; she wanted him to come home. Seeing him like this put daggers into her chest, and she was afraid that he'd say something about how he couldn't feel love, but he just stayed quiet. Waiting for whatever it was she was about to do.

One more time, maybe more to herself than for Bucky to hear, Sasha murmured, "I love you _so_ much." And with that, she blinked, tears spilling over and sliding down her cheeks as she brought her face towards his, hesitating only a moment before bridging the gap between them and kissing Bucky Barnes for the first time in almost two months.

\--

"I'm gonna have a fucking heart attack," Steve's muffled voice came as he spoke with his face held in his hands.

Though he couldn't see it, Pietro and Sam shared a look between each other, then simultaneously nodded in agreement with his statement.

\--

"What do you _mean_ his tracker's off?" Dominika demanded, taking a satisfaction from the slight flinch of fear the lower ranking officer responded with. At this point, she was ready to rip someone's fucking head off; they damn well _should_ have been scared of her. "That's a _manual_ function, why would he turn it off?"

The agent, one whose name escaped her mind because she honestly hadn't the energy to try remembering, nervously wrung his hands together. "Well, Miss Kazakova, you know he knew it was there. He always had, he just never saw a reason to turn it off; he didn't know any better."

Dominika _really_ did not like what the negative connotations of that phrasing brought up. "What, he suddenly knows better? He suddenly just doesn't want us finding him? Is that it?" She was are of her voice getting louder, and of the attention of other agents being attracted, but she didn't care. All of them were her subordinates, and quite frankly, anything less than perfection from them was a quality of work she would not accept; they needed to know that. "What possible reason could that idiot have to consciously turn off his tracker?"

"Well, ma'am, I'm not sure," the agent stuttered out, pulling at the neck of his collar. "But, um, the temporary surveillance chip we placed in his bionic arm while he was out cold for the process of the mind wipe is still there. We can access that to see what he's doing currently; we won't have context, but-"

"Do it," she commanded, shaking her head and stepping a few feet towards the appointed technical hacker's desk. A small mousy girl, thin blonde hair and another name Dominika couldn't remember. For a split second she thought maybe she should try a little harder to remember the agents' names, but then it passed and she realized she really didn't care. "The audio feed, pull it up. _Now_."

It took a few moments for the girl to remember quite how the process worked to actually access the Winter Soldier's chip, but she managed eventually. Were she in a better mood, Dominika would have thanked the young girl, obviously a new hire, but the Winter Soldier had been winking on and off the tracking grid far too much for Dominika to be anything less than irritable. Once the tech agent figured it out and pulled the live feed up, another agent redirected it to the large speakers around the room and amped the volume so that all would understand the situation Hydra now had to plan for.

And, oh Jesus, was it a situation.

"Bucky Barnes," an all too familiar voice, a voice that Dominika hated at this point, let out, "that mouth of yours is gonna get you in a whole lot of trouble."

A swift pause, one that allowed Dominika to hear her heartbeat speed up with the slow burning rage building inside her at where this was going and what _that_ voice being on this feed meant, and then, "You keep calling me that. _Why_ do you keep calling me that?"

"Because that's your name. Your name is James Barnes, but you prefer to be called Bucky. And, um... you loved me, I think. And I loved you. A lot."

The look on her face must have been pretty bad, because the young tech girl killed the sound and simply stared very intently at her computer screen. Alexandrea motherfucking Pierce. Of course.

"Miss Kazakova?" the agent who had originally reported the tracker problem hesitantly asked.

Dominika held up a finger, then reached down to the holster on her hip, drawing out a handgun. Then, as calmly as she could, she aimed the gun at the wall. " _You've got-!_ "A squeeze of the trigger interrupted her sentence. " _To be fucking-!_ " Another gun shot. " _Kidding me!_ " 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean to take so long to write this one, it just sort of happened. You'll have to excuse me, as school has been craaaazy and I'm really not getting any less busy. This week I've got my birthday and a color guard competition and like a million tests, but I will do my very best to update sooner. Hope you guys enjoyed!


	32. Only Fools Do What I Do

"Would it... be strange to tell you that I enjoy your presence?"

He watched as Alexandrea bit her lip in contemplation, fingers twisting around a lock of hair as her eyes found the ceiling. An idiotic question; he knew he should have let the thought go as soon as it had come, but his instinct had been to tell her, though he couldn't quite figure out why. Just as he couldn't figure out why he had experienced half the things he had in the past few days.

It had begun when she'd kissed him. Being who he was, primarily an assassin and secondarily a source of intelligence, he obviously knew what kissing was and what it would mean for Alexandrea to consciously kiss him. He could explain the very definition of the action, it's symbolic use, and when the action was appropriate to perform. In fact, he could translate all of that information into upwards of ten languages. He was not uneducated on the details of kissing.

That being said, Alexandrea having placed her lips on his had boggled his mind greatly. He'd complied with her wishes, had closed his eyes and had managed not to become too uncomfortable when she'd touched his face; he figured it was only fair, considering he'd done it to her just the day before. Then she'd started speaking softly, more to herself than to him, so he hadn't paid much mind to her words, but when she kissed him, hesitantly, almost as though she were afraid to upset him... there had been a tug. Not a physical one, but a mental one, something that told him that life as he was experiencing it may not have been entirely correct.

When he hadn't immediately put a stop to what had taken place, Alexandrea had tried to further it, though not at an unreasonable pace for him. Her fingers, thin and warm, had glided their way from his face and up into his hair, entangling themselves in the strands. With her mouth, she pressed harder against his own, attempting to play off of reactions he just wasn't physically capable of giving to her. He knew what kissing was; that didn't mean he knew how to execute it the way Alexandrea obviously wanted him to.

Regardless of all of that, once she realized he wasn't reciprocating and pulled away to allow him a look at her face, he began to see her differently. Not as though her appearance changed or she was suddenly somehow a glowing halo of golden light, but differently in the sense that the hopeful look on her face spurred a warm sensation in his chest. Simply looking at her face caused him to feel a sort of affection for her, a type of fondness.

Needless to say, he'd been quick to leave after that.

The feeling hadn't left him, though. In her absence, sure, it remained dormant in the back of his mind, but when he went back to visit Alexandrea, or even just pictured her face - something he could do in great detail, considering how long Hydra had made him stare at her photo so she'd be easily recognizable - it wasn't hard for him to realize the tender thoughts traipsing through his mind. That was why he did the only sensible thing he could think of: he embraced it.

Speaking in technicalities, this was what he had hoped to gain. His whole goal had been to remember Alexandrea, to recognize her in some way that hadn't been rammed into his mind, and in this way he'd been granted his wish. Because of that, and because he couldn't deny feeling some sense of familiarity at the meeting of their mouths, he allowed for her to make further attempts at restoring his memory; in fact, they were now going on their fifth day since she'd kissed him.

"Not at all," Alexandrea eventually answered, settling on her side so she could look at him from her side of the bed. "We were always together, back before, unless I had school or work or something. You never liked being by yourself, and if I'm honest, I never liked leaving you."

"You liked me that much?" he asked, eyebrows furrowing. Try as he might, he still couldn't fathom anyone having emotions for him in the way of love; it was just too easy to continue thinking that he was an object, not something capable of being loved.

Alexandrea's eyes widened slightly, and from what he could make of that, he figured it was because what he'd said had made her distraught. "Does that surprise you?"

No. Or, it shouldn't have. The way she'd been speaking of their past relationship, the way she looked at him even as she spoke in that moment, it was made evident that her affections ran deep. So, no, he really shouldn't have been surprised. It was just so hard to process the fact in a fully realized manner.

Instead of answering her question, he merely changed the subject. "You told me laying together like this was something we used to do often."

There was a look of expectation that he chose not to respond to. When Alexandrea realized he wasn't taking the thought any further, she prompted him. "Yes...?"

"I don't understand why."

A soft smile graced her face, something which could only be described as fond and, decidedly, knowing. "You and I, we were... how should I put it? We liked being with each other. Not just physically - I mean, clearly we enjoyed that, like a lot - but I also mean mentally, or emotionally. However you want to put it." That he could understand. Emotional bonding was something couples would typically want, and Alexandrea seemed the type of person to crave that type of contact.

In another attempt to remember her as she wished he would, he'd agreed to lay with her on the bed, which was why they found themselves where they were. He'd viewed it as simple, something he could easily grant her without fear of her trying to escape, as he had full view of her and could easily catch her if needed. That didn't, however, explain to him why they were positioned in the way they were.

"We laid like this?" he questioned, arching an eyebrow at the half of her face he could see. It was easily doubted; there was at least a full foot of space between them, and that fact was enough for him to feel further estranged from Alexandrea than he already was. Nothing about the situation told him they were emotionally bonding; how could they, when they were so far from each other? "If we were lovers, wouldn't we have been slightly more... close?"

Alexandrea's eyes rounded to the size of saucers as her eyebrows very nearly shot up to her hairline. "I mean, we, uh, we did, but..." The nervous hesitation she displayed was almost something for him to find endearing. That annoying little soft minded voice that showed up in the back of his head whenever she was near made an appearance, and he did his best not to pay it too much mind. Heeding it would not be appropriate, not in that moment; if he couldn't control himself, he might do something... rash.

"But what?" he asked simply instead, voice pitched low as he watched her lips, lips he knew to be soft as rose petals, mouth a small 'oh' in reaction to his trailing a finger down her cheek, to her throat, and across her collarbone. It did not, he decided, count as self indulgence if it was merely a tactic to get her to speak.

Yes. That was how he would justify it to himself.

"I didn't want to rush you," Alexandrea admitted, eyes seemingly fastened to his as she answered. He captivated her; that, he was well aware of. At least that meant that the playing field was level. "Or scare you, for that matter. You seemed pretty freaked when I kissed you the other day, and I just..." She trailed off, teeth catching at her bottom lip.

At the sight, a single word appeared in his mind, one he had not thought to describe anything with before:

 _Mesmerizing_.

"Show me," he requested, and with that sat patiently and expectantly, refusing to allow her any answer other than immediate compliance.

And so, being unable to get away from it, Alexandrea did just as he asked, instructing him to take off his shoes and position himself under the comforter of the bed. Once his boots had been kicked off and he'd done as she'd asked, he watched as her legs found themselves beneath the blanket as well. From there, Alexandrea moved herself closer to him, and grabbed his arm without a second thought.

When he reflexively tensed, she tilted her head out of confusion. "Did you want me to show you or not?"

"I apologize," he muttered, and allowed her to continue as she brought his arm around her waist. He continued to observe as she nestled towards him, practically pressing her face to his chest as she curled closer.

Perhaps in that moment he could understand the appeal of physical contact with another person, especially one like Alexandrea. It was... heady, sort of, and just a little confusing, but he supposed he could say he liked the way it felt.

Yes, that more than anything was true. His arm was around her waist, her lips just shy of being pressed to his neck, and there was a strong urge to entangle their legs together. More than that, there was a strong urge to...

To what? What did he _want_ to do? Going further, when had he begun to _want_ things in general? When had he learned the definition of desire, and when had Alexandrea become tied to it?

Emotions, though he was only starting to feel the barest beginnings of them, were exhausting.

"Does this help at all?" Alexandrea softly inquired. He could feel her eyelashes fluttering against his throat, could feel the heat of her breath on his skin. For some reason, in his mind's eye, the actions allowed him to picture the two of them as they were in that moment, only under different circumstances. Perhaps _happier_ circumstances, though he had only a vague idea of what happiness was. Even still, the mental image held a strange resonance with him, and though his first reaction was to hide it from her, he ultimately decided against it, as she was meant to be helping him remember her to save her own life, and it would not have been fair to take the chance away from her.

"I can't tell," he admitted, drawing away from her, only slightly so that he could look down at her face. Though he didn't understand why, he brought his left hand, the metal one, around to cup her cheek; a secret satisfaction ran down his spine when she didn't shy away from the cold or the fright of it, as he was sure so many other people might have. He still didn't understand why he _cared_ , but there it was. "This is better than how we were before, but this makes me feel strange. My chest is tight, and when I look at you like I am right now, I almost want to..."

He could see Alexandrea's breath catching in her chest, could practically hear her pulse spiking. She looked at him in wonder, amazement, with a suffocating amount of hope in her eyes; he had the strange thought that he might not mind being choked by that hope.

"What is it?" she murmured, eyes wondrously round. When she looked at him like that it was almost as if he could feel fire racing through his veins, or perhaps ice. He couldn't decide which. "What do you want to do?"

There were no words in his mind to explain his desires, things which were so new to him, and so he didn't bother attempting to explain them; he simply acted.

Carefully, so as not to frighten her - though he really wasn't sure why he cared if she was frightened or not - he leaned down, never breaking eye contact with her, and pressed his mouth to hers a little less than softly. He hadn't meant it to be rough, not really, but he'd gotten excited, he supposed.

At the initial contact, Alexandrea let out a noise of shock, something he'd caught in his mouth. That wasn't actually saying much, though, as it only lasted a second. Once she realized what he was doing, what he meant by kissing down her neck, she began reciprocating, began pulling him closer to her body and threading her hand into his hair.

From there it became easy to lose himself in the moment, to experience her as he so wanted to. There was something intoxicating about the situation, about her, and each time she drew away only to return to touching him again, he felt new sparks on his skin. The feeling of her presence, the taste of her mouth... they delighted him.

He'd not known how to execute the kissing as Alexandrea had wanted him to that first time they'd done it, hadn't been sure what she wanted from him. Now, he realized it didn't matter what she wanted; this was for him, not for her. He decided in that moment that he would do whatever felt right, whatever physically pleased him, because though she'd managed to unlock some sort of emotion in him, something of a tender nature, that didn't mean his survival skills went anywhere. His needs came first, always. That was how he continued existing in the world.

And, regardless of how he selfishly put his own wants first, Alexandrea seemed to be taking to it fairly well. Wherever he kissed, she pressed it closer to him; whatever he did, she responded. She was all too eager to react, to keep it going. If he hadn't known any better, he'd have said she was afraid for the moment to end.

He was above her, to maintain control of the situation, and had to lean his head down to kiss her properly. Or, perhaps not _properly_. He had a vague idea of how kissing worked, which in turn made the execution sloppy, but Alexandrea seemed gladder for it. He hadn't closed his eyes once, refused to take the security threat, but Alexandrea's had fluttered shut almost as soon as they'd begun kissing, and remained that way. He took a moment to admire her beauty, to appreciate how she looked beneath him, and wondered how it might feel to close his eyes himself. Did it add to the experience at all? Alexandrea _did_ look particularly enraptured with their situation.

Because he'd gained curiosity, he let his eyes fall shut.

It was as if he'd immediately been slammed with a metaphorical wall, a tidal wave of emotion. In the darkness, he found not that, but an explosion of color, of light, of life. He became hyper aware of everything in that moment, of the feel of Alexandrea, how exquisite kissing her was, what she smelled of. It was as if he were experiencing life for the first time, seeing things as they were and truly _feeling_ them.

In his excitement, his new experiences, he felt the untamed excitement similar to that of a toddler, no longer felt the need to hold anything back. That was why he pressed on, sloppily kissing down her neck, back up, across her jaw, anywhere he could, really, and it became easy to feed off the reactions she gave him, became the most natural thing in the world.

" _Moy Sashen'ka,_ " he moaned into her mouth, eyes tightly shut as his hands guided along the curves of her body, " _moy Sashen'ka_." He was not sure where the nickname had come from, but he couldn't find it in him to care.

Very suddenly, Alexandrea's body went rigid beneath him. In fact, her change of heart was so sudden that it took him a moment to pick up on it, and he mistook her attempts to get away as a desire for him to place his mouth against her skin elsewhere. Under the impression that he was complying with Alexandrea's wishes, he trailed his lips from her mouth, down her throat, and pressed kisses into the indentation of her collarbone. One of his instincts was to bite down lightly, because something in the back of his head told him she would enjoy it; when he followed through, Alexandrea emitted a sharp gasp, one that filled him with a desire to please her, and not just himself.

These responses to his touches were partly why he was so surprised when she gasped out, "Please stop... please stop kissing me. I want... I _need_ you to stop touching me. Please."

His eyes fluttered open immediately, breaking the spell which had been cast over him, and though he didn't withdraw his touches from her completely, he did have the grace to free her of his lips. Though he did not know why she was overwhelmed, he did understand what it felt like to be shocked by a sudden kiss; after all, he'd experienced it himself only several days ago.

She looked afraid. That was the very basis of her expression: _fright_. And though he knew that fear was the most irrational of all feelings, that once a human let go of it they could be free of any bias or prejudice, that didn't change the fact that Alexandrea was still expressing it, didn't change the fact that she felt it because of him.

Why was that? Why was she suddenly so afraid of him, so eager to be relieved of his kisses, his touches, when she had done practically the same thing days before?

Why was he so upset that she looked at him like that, as though he were the monster of her nightmares? Why did she tell him to stop?

Most of all, _why_ , God, _why did he care?_

"I'm sorry," Alexandrea breathed, shaking her head and blinking tears from her eyes. Seeing the tears sort of made him wonder what he's done to make her want to cry; he hadn't thought any of his actions towards her had contained any ill intent. "But I _can't_ do this with you."

His eyebrows furrowed, and he tilted his head in curiosity. Kissing? She couldn't do that with him? Or the touching? Was that what was causing her discomfort? Was it simply that he was atop her body? Had they done it differently, back when he was James Barnes?

"Have I done something to upset you?" he inquired, attempting not to let her know that he was even mildly hurt by her statement.

"No," she quickly responded. She eyed his hands, still on either of her hips, and squeezed her eyes shut tightly before shaking her head again and looking back to his eyes. The whites of hers were becoming pink, glossed over with salt tears. "You are _perfect_ , you always were. But what you just called me... Sasha. You always called me Sasha. Never Alexandrea."

"This may seem silly to you, but I think I just remembered for the first time since being here why I started this in the first place. I _loved_ you; still do." Tears were tracking their ways down her cheeks freely now, marking shimmering paths to her chin. "But I was in love with you as you _were_ , not... not as you are right _now_ , and I just, I feel like I'm doing something wrong by kissing you when you aren't yourself, when you can't _feel_ the way I do in this moment, which is what makes it so special. I just, I don't- I can't- I..."

Alexandrea's words gave way to tears. No, not just tears; that was too soft of a word. Perhaps the correct terminology would have been sobs, or bawls, but nothing so mild as mere tears. If he understood what it meant to feel broken on the inside, and he only knew the dictionary definition, he might say that that was what Alexandrea was feeling then. He could not be sure, though, and so he let go of her and removed himself from the bed so that she might be able to give herself some form of comfort.

He traded his place with her in the bed for one in the corner across the room, where he stood, watched her cry, and contemplated the sour feelings in his chest which he could only describe as sorrow and disappointment.

-

Thor did not know much of the sort of heartbreak Sasha felt, but he liked to think that did not take away from his capacity to feel sympathy for her.

It was his turn to monitor her activities with Natasha, to ensure that her situation was manageable and that she was not in danger. She wasn't, of course; at least, not the physical sort. Thor and Natasha had watched as the young woman had done her best to convince her assassin that he was a person beyond a killer, that he was capable of things such as love. It seemed that she continually did this at her expense, because every time a kiss was shared, or even just a simple touch, it seemed to take an emotional toll on her. Sensitive as Thor was to other people and their emotions, he seemed to feel a particular sorrow for Sasha's situation.

"That poor girl faces more and more heartache each day," Thor muttered, more to himself than Natasha. "Will it never end? Is this to be her fate?"

In hindsight, he knew Natasha would have heard him speaking; he didn't think she'd actually respond with an answer. She didn't, usually, when he was merely pondering, as she was observant enough to know when things such as that were taking place. "She's a tough girl. It might look like she's in a lot of pain; that's because she is. But she'll find a way to deal with it."

"She shouldn't have to," he grumbled in response, turning from the screens which displayed darkness blurred by tears. "These people, these Hydra, they torment her. They've terrorized her undeservedly."

Natasha raised a delicate eyebrow and shrugged in a not so delicate nature. "I know that, and I feel for her, believe me. But she's going through this because she feels like she needs to do it on her own, and actually, I kind of agree. The two of them knew what they were getting into when they found out the other's identity. They chose this, and if they're going to survive, they need to fight for it; that's all it comes down to. Besides," Natasha sighed, casting a slightly regretful glance at the screen, "there really isn't anything we can do anyway."

Actually, Thor had thought on it, and there _was_ one solution they might use to end the conflict at hand. Despite this, he hadn't spoken a word of it to his teammates, because he knew they would view it as madness. Maybe it was. All Thor understood was that it would give them an advantage, should they choose to implement it. However mad it was, an advantage was an advantage, and should, in his view, be welcomed always.

"What's that look?" Natasha questioned, eyeing Thor with narrowed eyes. The woman was far too adept at reading facial expressions for her own good. Well, that or Thor was simply an open book. "I can see the wheels turning in your head."

Thor simply shook his head, attempting to brush her observations aside. "Just a thought, really. Nothing you'd much like."

An unintentional challenge had been placed in his statement, but it was one Natasha responded to nonetheless. "Yeah? Try me. You'd be surprised about the things I like."

And so he told her of his thoughts, of the solution he'd not dreamed of recommending to his friends, and was greeted with a reaction he had seen coming three realms away.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," she deadpanned, crossing her arms over her chest. "I know I asked you to explain, but to even _think_ that would be a good idea..."

"It is risky, I'll admit that," Thor conceded, "and we have no guarantee it would work, but he would sympathize with her as you and I do. In fact, I get the feeling he might feel a certain softness in his heart for her situation. A love of his was taken from him as a punishment in much the same way, though he had no hope of rekindling their connection ever again. He would feel for her, I know he would, and he would no doubt assist her."

"You're talking about a guy who slaughtered hundreds of people because his feeling were hurt," Natasha argued, shaking her head, "you can't be _serious_."

"He has changed," Thor tried, defending the particular person's honor for what felt like the millionth time, "and his heart is true. Loki would help."

Natasha simply looked down at the floor. "He might. Or he might make the situation worse."


	33. Don't Get Cut On My Edges

"You've come to visit quite soon after departing for Midgard," Loki stated, glancing sideways at his brother as they walked down the corridor beside one another. He had been quite surprised when a servant had come to announce Thor's presence, but nonetheless had been happy for it; not that he'd ever admit that out loud. "Were you so sure that I'd start chaos as soon as you were gone?"

Thor laughed heartily, though Loki could hear the anxiousness contained within. "No, I'm happy to say that this visit was specifically to come and see you." Said as though Loki wouldn't notice the note of hesitance; he attempted not to take much offense.

"And?" he prompted instead. Ever since they'd been children, Thor only ever needed a slight push to speak what was on his mind. He was sure if he just prodded his brother a little further, he might be more forthcoming.

"And," Thor responded, surprisingly firm but not impolite, "we will talk of business after I've checked in on you. You may continue to reject me as your brother as you please, but that doesn't mean I feel any less sibling affection for you. How have you been? Has father been treating you well?"

Ah, right. Thor remained under the impression that Loki still viewed him as an unwanted reminder, still viewed him as a sort of oppressive shadow to live under. That wasn't true, and hadn't been for quite sometime. Loki loved his brother, probably more than anything else in his existence. Even back when he'd been trying to best him, to kill him, even then, Loki had only been seeking Thor's respect, approval, _something_ which would mark him as having made his brother proud.

Of course, he'd gone about it in the completely wrong manner, but what had passed had passed, and there was no sense in tying himself up in what he could not change.

Loki supposed that he could at least now be honest. "Father hardly speaks to me, and I would expect nothing less. He sees Mother in me, constantly, every time he looks, and chooses to avoid the discomfort. I can't truthfully say that it bothers me; quite honestly, I couldn't care less."

A sentence crafted to present Loki to his brother as indifferent, to show nothing of the true hurt their father's actions inflicted. A sentence which, judging by the look of Thor's face, had not quite done its job.

Perhaps it had, though; perhaps Thor was simply learning to read people much better - and, by people, meaning Loki.

"I am beginning to see," Thor began carefully, eyeing Loki from the corner of his eye as they came to the end of the hall and stepped through an archway and out onto a balcony. The sky was dark, shimmering with stars and nebulae; it was exactly how Loki preferred it to be. Something about the night time caused him to feel more at home in his own home realm. "That Father is perhaps not as good a man as you and I once thought him to be. Mother's tenderness shielded the anger; now that she's been... removed..." Thor paused a moment, catching on the words and on the memory. Loki found it was something he did too, when made to speak of Frigga's death. "I feel Father sees no need to keep up false pretenses."

"Please, brother," Loki pleaded, placing an emphasis on the word so that Thor would know he'd used it genuinely and intentionally. So often he'd called Thor his brother as a scathing insult; now he truly meant it. "Enough about Father. Let us dwell on happier subjects, yes?" A rarity for Loki, but he was desperate. "What did you come to see me for?"

Thor's face fell slightly, though not because of Loki's use of his sibling title. No, his face had changed expressions out of distress. "In all honesty? I've come to ask a favor of you, and I know you owe me nothing, but the situation is _dire_."

Clearly.

"I can't very well help if you don't tell me what you need," Loki pointed out. He'd need to know what the problem was before he could establish whether or not he might solve it. Thor had the astonishing habit of assuming that Loki could fix anything, simply because he had magic. While he liked to think that his craft would apply to any situation, he knew that wasn't entirely true. "You'll have to tell me."

Thor's eyes grew pained for a few moments, and it was a look Loki had seen before. It was not the look he'd been assaulted with when Thor had tried oh so hard to get Loki to take his place back in Asgard, to stop terrorizing Midgard; it wasn't even the look that Thor had graced Loki with when Loki had been supposedly dying, a tearful goodbye meant to show the brotherly affection which had always been there. No. This was a look, carefully and purposely crafted, which Loki had seen maybe once before, on a night when Thor had roused him from his sleep to play the bearer of bad news. It was not until Thor spoke his next words, soft and apologetic, the notes of his voice wavering in the moonlit air, that Loki pieced his cautious demeanor together.

"You of course, I'm sure," Thor began, looking as though he hated himself for what he was about to bring up, "remember what became of Sigyn?"

Ice exploded into Loki's veins, consuming his whole body in the feel of being frozen. He'd thought he'd learned to control when that happened, to cap his Jotun side within the deepest parts of his mind. No one wanted to see that, and honestly, Loki himself still hated that part of him, but in extreme moments of distress, it became evident that his true nature still managed to come out to play.

"How could I not?" he laughed bitterly, glancing down at his ivory hands, now laced with an aggressive blue, before letting his eyes find the stars. The vastness of the universe, ironically enough, seemed to calm him when he could not take care of his emotions himself. "It was only the worst day of my existence."

Sigyn. Kind, beautiful, sweet minded Sigyn. How harshly fate had come to call for her as soon as she'd let Loki into her life. How cruelly she'd been dealt with because Loki had held her dear.

Then again, perhaps it was unfair to hold fate accountable for what had happened to her. After all. Odin had been the one to rip the two of them apart.

They'd been young. Young, and yes, perhaps a bit foolish, but Loki could say without any fraction of a doubt that he'd loved her as much as any one being could love someone else. Childhood sweethearts, he supposed they could have been labeled. Every second they were together, Loki could feel his soul lightening, his very essence becoming pure as a new born babe's, and a majority of his happiness grew to lie with her, so much so that Loki even asked his parents if he could take her hand in marriage, that she might become even more a part of him than she already had been.

His mother had thought it a splendid idea, had smiled as she'd clasped his hands, kissed his forehead, and began rejoicing that one of her son's would know the joys of marriage.

Odin had deemed it dreadful, for reasons Loki did not understand, and forbade Loki to continue seeing Sigyn.

Being the trickster god, a master of mischief, Loki had found ways to continue his courtship of Sigyn, regardless of what his father had to say about it. They had to be secretive about it of course, which meant there were many days where they would spend their time in abandoned corridors, ill used rooms, and in the privacy of Loki's chambers when he could smuggle her in undetected. All of it, though, _all of it_ had been worth experiencing his love as he had so desired.

Thor had been trusted with the knowledge of this secret affair, and had not failed to keep the tale to himself. He too had no understanding of why Odin denied Loki the woman he sought to be his wife, and had done everything in his power to distract their parents from Loki's goings on as much as he could.

In fact, Thor had been the one to suggest they run away with each other, had told them they should get as far from Asgard's capital as possible and never turn back.

They'd planned it, made sure it could work and that they wanted to go through with it. Loki had gotten down on one knee, proposed to Sigyn with a ring of emeralds, said he wanted to do it properly. Sigyn had teared up and accepted the proposal with a wildly passionate kiss, but also mentioned she bloody well didn't care whether they were a proper couple or not. It had, in all its glory, been the happiest moment in life Loki had ever felt. He'd kissed his fiancée goodnight, held her in his arms, and whispered that he'd come for her the next day at sunset, so that the two of them might start a happier life together.

It was only four hours later, in the middle of the night, that Thor had come to frantically wake Loki, to warn him that Father had somehow caught wind of his and Sigyn's plans. Loki had shot from his room with Thor right on his heels as he attempted to find their Father so he might beg him to understand. As it turned out, Odin had been in the first location Loki had tried: the throne room.

Along with Sigyn, whose wrist he had in a vice grip, and a vile of shimmering silver liquid.

Of course Loki knew what the vile contained; he had been in the middle of studying potions, had been reading of the qualities of each kind. Before he could shout a protest, before Sigyn could beg her King not to, before either of them could make a promise never to see one another again, Odin made eye contact with both his sons, Loki a fraction of a second longer, and forced the liquid down Sigyn's throat. With that, he'd let the girl collapse to the floor, and Loki raced forward with a cry of sorrow at his mouth and cradled her body in his arms.

In a few moments her eyes blinked open, and Loki had been foolish enough to allow himself the thought that maybe the potion had not worked. His hopes had been thrown back in his face when Sigyn had asked where she was, what had happened, and who Loki happened to be.

Loki had decided it was best not to feel love after that night.

"There is a girl," Thor urged, snapping Loki back to reality and away from his painful musings of the past. Remembering that night always tended to leave a metallic tang in his mouth. "A Midgardian girl, one just barely more than a child. She is in love, brother, but the man who holds her affections is in the same position Sigyn is in now."

Oh, how awful that was to hear. Loki might have considered Midgardians beneath him, might have thought them fickle, ridiculous creatures, but that didn't mean he wished a lover's memories being stolen upon anyone. No one deserved that horrifying heartbreak, the loss of the will to get out of bed come morning time. And Thor had said the girl in question was hardly an adult, making her more than likely around the physical age he and Sigyn had been at the time of their tragedy.

"I offer my condolences," Loki responded, brows furrowing out of confusion. He wasn't quite sure where it was Thor had meant to take the conversation, and was, in general, feeling a sense of heartache which he'd long ago learned to bury. "It's a horrible thing, to love another who once loved you. I might offer her comfort, or suggest some way that she can move on with her affections...?"

"You misunderstand me." Was it Loki's imagination, or was Thor actually smiling after calling such a sorrowful situation into question. "I have come to call on you so that you might help. There is a chance we can recover her lover's memories. They've allowed me to ask you now because, as I said before, the situation grows worse and worse every day. The longer we wait, the more danger Lady Sasha falls into."

Lady Sasha.

How lovely a name that was.

"What do you mean?" he questioned his brother, genuinely confused. They wanted his help, that Loki could understand, but why would the girl be in danger as the days went by? "What sort of trouble is she in?"

"The man Lady Sasha has fallen in love with," Thor explained, "is a good man, from what I have picked up. However, the people who stole his memory, the ones that separated the two, they've... trained him in the art of killing, turned him into an assassin. They've made it clear they want him to kill her, but something about her keeps him from doing so. I'm not sure how much longer it will last."

So. Perhaps the stakes were a bit higher, but the situation was the same. Loki could fix that; Loki could do for someone else what had failed to be done for him. He could make it work.

"I'll do it," Loki announced without a second thought. "Now. I assume you have a theory as to how we restore his mind?"

\--

She'd begun retreating into her memories. It wasn't a good habit to keep, and was probably the fastest way to turn crazy, but it was the only way she could potently remember Bucky for how he used to be.

It had started with the first day they'd met, how Sasha had been so dazed from the hits to her head but had still managed to be painfully aware of how attractive Bucky was through the haze of it. From there, she'd gone on to the normal memories; the first time they'd hung out, their first kiss, first date, the few minutes between the first time they'd slept together and when they'd fallen asleep afterwards, Bucky humming happily as he stroked her hair. All of them made her happy to recall, left a special sort of warmth in her chest, and Sasha found that she could genuinely smile about it.

The one she was recalling now was not one that she'd known was in her bank of memories.

There'd been a night, after they'd begun dating, when Sasha had been invited to what was basically a performing arts school's equivalent to a college frat party by some of the theatre majors she kept as friends. It had taken some convincing to get Bucky to come along, because he really hadn't wanted to be caught at a college party with such a large crowd, but he'd eventually given in. As soon as they'd shown up, Sasha had been greeted heartily, a cup filled with something that tasted deliciously of fruit thrust into her hands, and she'd been whisked away to dance while Bucky scoped out a spot to watch her, an amused and content smile on his face as he watched her antics.

One drink turned into two, two to three, and before Sasha even realized she'd been consuming alcohol at all, she was falling face first on the dance floor and convincing herself that she'd be able to stand back up by simply raising her arms to the ceiling. The colors of the room were swirling so that she couldn't make out much of anything and she thought someone might have been bending down to see if she was okay when a pair of strong arms started lifting her.

"Alright, baby doll, you've had enough fun for one night," Bucky murmured into her ear. "You are absolutely _wasted_."

"I am not!" she declared, stubbornly going limp in efforts to stop Bucky from trying to get her to leave. "I have never been more sober in my life! I am the most sober person is this room, swear to _god_."

"Oh, honey," Bucky sighed, shaking his head, "if you wanna swear that to any gods, I'm pretty sure you're going to hell."

"That's not very nice," Sasha pointed out. She looked up at Bucky, batting her eyelashes and sticking her lower lip out in a pout so that he might actually decide to let her stay and have more fun. That fruit flavored stuff was quickly becoming her favorite thing in life.

Bucky laughed, rolling his eyes as he bent his head to kiss her cheek. "You like me because I'm honest, not because I'm nice." With that, he placed her on her feet and began ushering her forward.

Well, he _tried_ to. As soon as she tried to lift a foot to walk forward, still generally unaware that Bucky was attempting to get her to leave, the heel of her shoe seemed to catch on something and caused her to pitch forward.

Okay.

So maybe she was just the _tiniest_ bit tipsy.

Though she put up quite the drunken protest, Sasha still found herself being led out the door of the party. People called her name, shouting their goodbyes in a slurred manner, and she gave them an equally inebriated response. If she hadn't been worried about the growing discomfort she could feel in her stomach, she might have been able to consciously register the amused little half smile shaping Bucky's mouth. That gross feeling, though, did _not_ stop her from looking at his face in general or from being affected by how god awfully pretty he was.

That was the thing about alcohol, Sasha guessed; it made everything a million times prettier, even when you had someone like Bucky, who was about as beautiful as anyone could possibly hope to be. She said as much to him while he carried her out of the cab - which she hadn't remembered the two of them getting into - and into the apartment building.

"I thought you said you weren't drunk," Bucky teased, setting her down on her feet in the elevator. She still didn't quite have her balance back, which meant she had to lean heavily against Bucky's frame, but she didn't mind and was sure he didn't either.

"I wasn't," Sasha responded matter of factly, though she couldn't seem to help the sheepish - sheepish? What kind of word was that? Sheep were weird animals - grin on her face. "I'm _not_. I'm just sort of..."

"Drunk?"

Sasha threw one of her hands up in the air, and laughed harder than she probably needed to. She just couldn't help it; Bucky was so funny. "You got me!" she giggled, voice loud and bright. "No, but you do look pretty. Like... prettier than... uh? Prettier than... Um, shit. Who do you want to be prettier than?"

"I don't think that's something I need to want right now."

"You can be prettier than me! How about that?"

"That's definitely not possible," Bucky chuckled, placing an arm around her at the sounding of the elevator dinging once they'd reached the third floor. "But thank you for the compliment." He took her back to their apartment, kicking the door shut behind them so he wouldn't have to let go of her.

"What are we gonna do now?" Sasha questioned, tilting her head as she fell onto the mattress of her bed.

Bucky looked at her with his bright blue eyes, clear as crystals, and shook his head as he carefully reached out to unfasten the buttons on Sasha's coat. She let him do this as a flutter of heat rushed through her stomach; she wasn't sure if that was attraction to her boyfriend or something else on account of the alcohol. "You, little one, are going to _bed_."

Mmm. Bed. In her mind, somewhere way in the back, she knew he meant for sleep. That didn't take well with her intoxicated thought process at the moment, though, which was simply taking in the fact that they were alone in her room again, just the two of them, with Bucky so beautiful in the light and her being less nervous about sex now and there was actually a _bed_. Bucky might have said one thing, but the tricky thing about speaking to a drunk person was that they could come up with a completely alternate definition of what had been said to them. Funny how that happened.

She lunged for him, her lips just barely making contact with his before he swiftly twisted away and placed both his hands on her shoulders to prevent her from surprising him again. "Whoa, there drunkie," Bucky chuckled, shaking his head affectionately at her, "none of that tonight."

"But _Bucky_ ," Sasha whined, craning her neck so she could get closer to his face. His lips were pink, rosy, and he smelled sharply of cloves and smoke - that confused her, because he didn't smoke, not that she was aware of, and cloves were an awfully random thing to smell of. It was irrelevant, though. He was just _there_ , and she seemed to feel his presence more potently than she ever had before. Maybe it was just the alcohol, but god _damn_.

"Don't you 'Bucky' me," he laughed, grabbing her hand, which she'd been using to sneakily try and reach for his face, because if she could just pull him closer she could shut him up and make him forget about being chivalrous or whatever, "you are _wasted_. I'm not about to take advantage of you."

"I'm barely even a little bit _not_ sober," Sasha tried defending, herself. Not true, so not true, but it wasn't exactly like she needed to admit that out loud, right? "And, I want, I want you! I love you! I wanna kiss you and I want you to kiss me and I want us to be together while you kiss me and I want to show you I love you! Please?"

His eyes softened, his face growing fonder, and for a moment, Sasha was caught off guard and shocked by how gentle his expression had become, so much so that she had almost forgotten that she wanted to sleep with him at all; _almost_ , but not quite. "My Sashen'ka, you show me you love me every day. Every _single_ day, not just while we're having sex. You do it with the smiles you give me, the soft touches, the happy sighs while I'm holding you in my arms as you fall asleep." The smile he offered was pure, one meant to grasp at her heart. Had she not been so completely wasted, it would have made her feel fuzzy inside.

"You know," Sasha crooned, unable to help the stupid grin etching its way onto her face, "if you had gotten drunk too you wouldn't be such a killjoy, and we could _totally_  be fooling around right now."

It was Bucky's turn to laugh now, letting one of his hands leave her shoulder to cup her cheek instead; it held all the heat of a summer's day. "Lucky for _both_ of us, the super soldier serum keeps that from happening. _One_ of us has to be responsible, wouldn't you say?"

"You mean one of us has to be _boring_ ," she teased, gently leaning her forehead against his chest. Her head was swirling, the alcohol having made it feel too heavy for her to hold up anymore. Then again, she wondered whether it was the alcohol that made it feel that way or if it had just made her realize the weight that she'd always been carrying around on her neck. "Can we sleep together then?"

Bucky's arms, were around her, the cool metal of his left hand rubbing up and down her back. "I just told you we could do that when you were sober."

"Not sex, dummy," she murmured, voice muffled by the fabric of his t-shirt, "sleep. I want to cuddle, if we can't do anything else."

She could feel Bucky's lips press down on the top of her head, felt him whisper an affirmation, and could feel him moving to undress her so that she might get into more comfortable sleeping clothes.

Needless to say, the memory she hadn't known was there took her by surprise, both by its nature and with the realization of how _good_ a person Bucky had been. She had been hating Hydra a little more and more for taking away who he was, but that memory specifically made it ten times worse. The character he'd shown, the tenderness, the emotions he'd possessed in that moment had shown how truly far he'd come in recovering from the first brainwashing attack; there was no telling where he'd be once she and the Avengers managed to break him from this second spell.

Initially, she was ripped from her thoughts and memories when the door to the motel room opened. In stormed Bucky, as he always did, but there was something wrong about it this time. Sasha couldn't place what that was; why did it matter that he had shown up all of a sudden? He was always doing that, had been for the past week or so, ever since she'd been placed in the room. What was it about the situation that unsettled her?

Then she realized - it was the time of day. Bucky came to see her in the mornings, to bring her breakfast and food for lunch, left for the rest of the day, came back around dinner with more food, and stayed with her until she fell asleep; at least, that was what she assumed. He was always gone when she woke up the next morning. That meant he was breaking routine, something she was sure he wouldn't have just _done_.

A sick, sinking feeling started to manifest itself in Sasha's stomach; it was never a good thing to feel, especially not in these days.

Bucky stomped to where she kept the clothing he'd provided her with, picked up clothing seemingly randomly, and threw them across the room at her, something which wasn't hard to do with that arm of his; when the clothing reached her, the force of them was enough to feel as though she'd been hit with a book instead. "Get _dressed_ ," he snapped, shooting a seething glare her way. "We're on a schedule."

Pretending like his tone didn't bother her, didn't leave her feeling like nails were taking down her spine, Sasha looked down at the outfit he'd picked for her in a simple glance. Black jeans, the ones she remembered fitting snugly around her hips and showing off what little of a butt she had to show off, and a pretty white shirt with a v-neckline and long gauzy sleeves, a shirt which just barely reached the top of her belly button. Nice clothes; clothes which made her feel normal, like her whole life hadn't been falling apart for the past month or two. Clothing that made her forget this awful situation the two of them were in, because it looked like an outfit she might've worn on a date with Bucky, an outfit she'd have let him carefully peel off her body when they got back home if he promised with all his might that he wouldn't rip it like he'd done to that dress she'd been wearing their first time together.

Her little tangents were only going to get her so far, she supposed.

She'd been thinking too long; Bucky was on her in a flash, a hand shooting out to strike her across the face. Sasha couldn't help crying out, the pain a shock of lightning painting its way across a dark, clouded sky, and she could practically feel the red welt forming on her cheek. He hadn't hit her with the metal hand, thank goodness, but that didn't mean the pain was any less.

Tears stung in her eyes and her hand reflexively flew to cup her cheek. "W-what...?" She had to ask, because she couldn't understand what was happening. It had been progress towards his recovery, when she'd kissed him that first time, and he'd held her as they laid together, and when he'd kissed her himself even though she'd had to stop him. Why was it that they were moving backwards now, and where was it that he was so frantically trying to take her? "I don't... Bucky?"

His eyes, blue and clear and hard as marble, looked upon her without the slightest emotional recognition, and that was when she knew she was in deep shit. "I have new instructions," he stated, voice even, though Sasha could see the great effort it took for him to remain composed. There was a tidal wave inside the man before her, one that was crashing against the walls and barriers Hydra had built inside him; she just wasn't sure that it was going to break those walls down in time. "I'm to act upon them immediately. Which means _you_ ," he spat, picking up the clothes from where she'd dropped them in her lap and shoving them back against her chest, "need to stop _wasting my time_ and get _dressed_."

New orders.

From _Hydra_.

With each passing second, Sasha felt as though it were getting harder and harder for her to breathe.

"So... what does that mean, exactly?" she asked, not because she wanted to. No, this was a _need_ ; she _had_ to ask, because she needed to prepare herself for the worst. "What does that mean for us?"

Bucky locked his eyes on hers, but at that point Sasha didn't think he was seeing her quite clearly anymore. "It means they wanted you dead, and they found out I didn't kill you. So now they want me to drag you to headquarters so they can _watch_ me execute you."

Well.

Shit.


	34. Say Your Prayers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to warn you guys, very, very light mentions of torture after the second page break. That's all!

Coming out of a drugged stupor wasn't really the greatest feeling in the world, and by this point Sasha was getting pretty fucking sick of it. Getting straight up knocked out was one thing. _That_ she could handle, because it didn't leave her feeling so completely dazed and groggy, with her throat thick and her head clouded. Now she could unfortunately claim to be getting used to it, and as she blinked her eyes open, trying to flutter the lethargy from them, she was surprised to find that what she felt in her chest was not fear for herself, but pure rage at the people who were responsible for putting her where she was, and making Bucky put her there.

Her anger was most potent for one person in particular.

Sasha opened her eyes to find herself in a poorly lighted room, so dim that really the only thing she could make out for certain was the white fabric of her blouse. There was no door, not that she could see, anyway, and that confused her but she hadn't the energy to waste on thinking about it. Above her head, there was a single lightbulb set into the ceiling, covered by what was probably a hard plastic panel so she couldn't use the lightbulb as a weapon, assuming she'd have been able to reach it in the first place. Even if she could find a way to make up for her height, there was still the matter of the god damned _shackles_ securing both her arms to the walls.

Where even did you _get_ shackles, anyway?

"Fuck," Sasha muttered under her breath. She was trapped in a room with metal walls, no door, one stupid lightbulb, and fucking _shackles_. That was just god damn _perfect_.

She could remember Bucky freaking out, hitting her at the motel and urging her to get dressed; it wasn't something she much wanted to relive. There was the memory of him dragging her into another car, different from the one he'd stolen to take her to the motel. No doubt he'd dumped it somewhere it would take the police a long time to find it. Sasha remembered getting in the car, buckling her seatbelt distractedly, and gingerly reaching up to finger her cheek, which was still tender from the strike Bucky had made.

That was when the sharp pain had entered into the crook of her left arm, cold and unforgiving, and was also where her memory dropped out.

Now she was here, not that she could actually say where here was.

A blindingly white light suddenly exploded into the room, and Sasha couldn't help but cry out at the sensory overload. In that moment, that light was like someone had decided to drive a hot fire poker into her head, trying to split her head in two with the force of it. Clearly it was going to take some time for whatever drug they'd injected her with to wear off.

Because she couldn't adapt to the light as quickly as she would have liked, Sasha was completely caught off guard when a hand, cold as ice with nails that pricked her skin, locked around her throat. It didn't squeeze, didn't even seem to mean Sasha any harm, but she screamed anyway. Screaming seemed to be the only thing she could do, and in a weird way it helped her to not feel so small. That sort of thinking was idiotic, of course, because it didn't get her anywhere, didn't make her any more powerful, but she supposed it could have been considered some brand of cathartic.

The hand with its fingers made of icicles forced her head back, making her face look up at whoever was before her. Sasha decided she should make herself open her eyes, if only to deduce what was coming for her in the next few moments. If she was to die by Bucky's hands now, so immediately after coming back to consciousness, she wanted to watch him as he dealt the killing blow.

In Sasha's mind, it was better than any alternative she could think of.

But when she opened her eyes, tears drawn automatically by the brightness flooding the room, it was not the cold, hard blue depths of Bucky's eyes she found herself searching for even the smallest scrap of compassion. They were _blue_ like Bucky's, and just as hard and unforgiving, but they weren't _Bucky's_. The lashes were darker, thicker, the shape of the eyes wider and more round. These were not Bucky's eyes; they were similar, but not the same.

Her face was long and heart shaped, the round apples of her cheeks a bright, rosy colored blush. Her lips were full, just like the lips of the man Sasha had kissed many times, and were pressed into an insistent line. The skin of her face was porcelain white, save for the rosy cheeks, and that trait, coupled with the big blue eyes and the shockingness of her long jet black hair, reminded Sasha of a china doll.

Sasha saw Bucky everywhere in her face, in every small detail, from the arches of her eyebrows to the beauty mark on her throat.

She looked just like him.

Sasha couldn't figure out why that was.

The girl's gaze never once wavered, never strayed from Sasha's. It was hard to say if she was even _blinking_ , she was staring so intensely.

"Have you gotten a good look?" a voice belonging to neither Sasha or the girl staring down at her inquired. It was difficult to tell whether the voice was asking Sasha or the girl. What was not hard to do was match the voice to the person who would have possessed it.

For a moment more, the girl holding Sasha by the throat continued to stare. Then, as swiftly as possible, she withdrew and took a step back, clasping her hands together in front of her. "Yes, ma'am," she answered, voice sounding as though she hadn't spoken in years. Something, _something_ was familiar about that ramrod straight posture and the way she was carrying herself; Sasha just couldn't figure out _what_.

Nova - or, Dominika, Sasha guessed - stepped into the room, heels clacking against the floor with every move she made. Sasha could see her now, could make out the details thanks to her eyes finally having adjusted. Her former friend stood with a posture she'd never seen, wearing all black clothing and an ear piece. Dominika looked powerful, stood and commanded attention just by doing so. Nova might have been her friend, but this was a person Sasha had never known in her life.

"Hello, Alexandrea," she greeted cruelly, an insidious note in her voice failing to be very well hidden. "How are you feeling?"

Even when she'd been spending her time with Bucky, brainwashed and hurtful, Sasha hadn't ever been so afraid for herself; this threat was different. This threat wasn't messing around in the slightest.

This threat was real.

"Like _shit_ ," she muttered, forcing herself to stare Dominika down. It was the same as it had been with Bucky. These were a predatorial sort of people, the kind that pounced and fed on the weakness of others. If Sasha showed even the smallest absence of confident cockiness, the two girls before her would practically eat her alive. "But I'm guessing that's good news to you, right? That's what you want?"

Instead of answering her accusations, Dominika came even closer, going so far as to push the raven haired girl out of the way. That girl stumbled slightly and did not respond in the slightest, which caused Sasha some slight confusion. Why did she put up with Dominika's abuse the way she did? From only a brief encounter, Sasha had managed to pick up on the facts that the girl was fast, skilled, and had deadly reflexes and instincts. It was much the same as when she'd met Bucky for the first time, and both he and this girl, minds clearly out of their own control, were subject to Dominika's treatment.

Sometime later, when she was left to herself a while longer, Sasha would realize that she'd managed to figure out that the mystery girl standing before her would have also been brainwashed, much in the same way Bucky had. The importance of that still remained lost to her.

"You know what?" Dominika's face was so close that Sasha could smell the scent of mint from her breath and roses from her perfume. "You and your boyfriend are just so quick to jump to the same conclusions, you know that? The two of you paint me as some kind of monster, incapable of caring for others. I do have to say it's not exactly _flattering_."

"And did you blame him?" Sasha demanded. "Do you blame _me?_ You had him bring me here so you could watch him kill me, I'm pretty sure that falls into the category of 'Things a Shitty Person Would Do'. It's probably right above 'pretending to be somebody's friends for years only to have her tortured with knives and shot.' But I mean, you know, what would I know about that?"

" _Nothing_ ," Dominika spat so ferociously venomous that Sasha found herself breathless, "you wouldn't know _anything_ about it! No, you're just so perfect, bless your soul, and would never wish _anyone_ harm, right?"

Sasha was beginning to feel something dangerous within herself, something she'd never felt before. Dominika's words were fighting words. They were tough on the surface, of course, because they were _designed_ to be. All they were really supposed to do was distract from the frantic note of hurt and pain in her voice, to disguise what she was truly feeling.

Had Sasha realized these things earlier, that Dominika was simply a scared girl trying to make herself seem big and protect herself in a world full of wolves much earlier, she might have decided on trying to appeal to her softer side, to try and make her see that everything would be okay. She might have told her that she could forgive her, for the sake of their friendship, that she could be a good person and break away from the Hydra circle, redeem herself.

But something had changed in Sasha, after waking up in that cold, darkened metal cell, the prick of the needle which had held the drugs which knocked her out still stinging her arm. She wasn't sure what it was, didn't know how the feeling in her chest had formed, but she _did_ know that it felt like a metal ball of resistance, and could figure out that it held a likeness to determination. Determination for what, that was still a mystery, but all Sasha knew was that seeing Dominika's pain, her weakness, made her want to pounce. There was a knife in the girl's chest already; Sasha wanted nothing more than to twist it. Once upon a time, that would have scared her, would have been filed away into her mind where she kept her intrusive thoughts, because no one should wish harm on anyone else, right?

Except, Sasha wished harm on Dominika. She had an entire fake friendship's pain to drive her, and with it, in her mind, she was already trying to figure out how she might tear the girl before her apart piece by piece.

"All I'm gonna say about that," Sasha murmured, only just barely managing to keep her voice from shaking. Dominika would have assumed it was from fright; Sasha knew it was purely a result of her rage. "Is that you had better hope to god that I don't figure my life out in this cell, because I promise you, if I find even the _smallest_ chance..." She laughed, more to herself than at anything else, because never in her life would she have imagined saying what she was about to in a genuinely serious manner. "Bucky won't get the chance to see you once his mind is put back together, won't be able to kill you like I'm sure he'll want to. I'll do it my damn self, and I won't lose a wink of sleep over it."

Dominika's head tilted so that it came closer to Sasha's face, her eyes never breaking contact. She didn't stop moving closer until their noses were just millimeters from touching, lips so close to Sasha's that they just barely brushed when she began whispering. "Oh, believe me, _baby doll_. It's not gonna reach that point."

She stayed there another moment, really looking Sasha over, then stood back up and turned to the other girl in the room, the one that reminded Sasha disturbingly of Bucky. "Autumn. Stay here with Miss Pierce, won't you? I'm sure she'll understand if it helps me sleep at night that you make sure she doesn't figure her life out too well."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Autumn?" Sasha asked, drawing both sets of blue eyes back to her. "Is that her name, or just some sort of stupid joke?"

Dominika shrugged. "We already had a Winter Soldier. I figured we may as well complete the set." The blonde walked towards the open wall, turning around to smirk down at Sasha while waiting for Autumn to settle herself into a corner. "And trust me. You'd really rather not know what her name is. _That_ I can promise you."

\--

"Do you understand why you're being punished?"

For having thoughts. For knowing he was more than what they said he was. For indulging in very human actions and kissing a pretty girl.

For daring to remember that he was a person and not, in fact, an object.

None of these things he said out loud. Why would he? It would have only made his life, the little of it that he had left to live, that much more difficult. As if he _needed_ that. As if he wanted to remember what his time with Alexandrea had been like, so it would be that much harder to kill her, like they wanted him to. He'd already accepted that there would be no escaping from ending her, not if Hydra wanted it to be that way. It couldn't be much of a gap, he figured, between the time he'd have to kill her and the time Hydra would have their next asset decommission him. If they wanted her dead, fine. An order was an order. As long as he was taken care of quite quickly after Alexandrea was, he supposed he didn't mind being the one to take her life.

That was not to say that it would not be difficult for him. No, in the very short time they'd been... _exposed_ to one another, he supposed he could say that he'd become quite fond of her presence. It wasn't as though their connection had been strong enough to defy orders and try to set her free to ease a guilty conscience, but he _had_ enjoyed her. The back talk, the sass, sarcasm, annoyance. All of it had been so far from how he'd expected a fearful young girl to interact with him, but Alexandrea had of course been the exception.

None of that mattered, though, not when it came down to it.

"I've misbehaved."

The agent who'd been commanded to correct him, Rumlow, smacked him across the face. Perhaps he deserved that; smacking Alexandrea the last time he'd seen her, however long ago it had been, had left the sour tang of guilt in his mouth. He'd regretted laying a finger on her as soon as he'd done it, had known she hadn't done anything to provoke it, but his feelings towards her had been shoved as far into the corner of his mind as he could make them go.

"No," Rumlow spat, arm pulled back as if he was readying to strike again, "you didn't. You don't have the _capacity_ to misbehave, you understand me? I don't know how that girl managed to get inside your head, and I don't know what she told you, but you are not a human being, you are a _machine_. Machines don't behave, Soldier, you didn't _misbehave_. You _malfunctioned_."

The agents had been trying to beat that idea into him at every opportunity they received. Spoke to him slowly and enunciated, refused to call him anything other than 'the asset' when speaking about him, looked at him as though he were simply another tool. No matter how hard he tried to accept that, to let go of the small scrap of humanity he'd found, he seemed to keep coming back to Alexandrea's touch.

"Tell me something, Soldier," Rumlow crooned, leaning down to Winter Soldier's eye level. They'd designed an industrial chair long ago, to keep him in check when he occasionally began fighting back. "I gotta know. What is it about her? Pierce is hot, sure, I can understand the appeal there. But what about _her_ made you so willing to go against orders? How could you possibly think you would get away with that?"

Any answer he gave would automatically be ridiculed, he of course had enough sense to recognize that. Rumlow had struck up conversation on a topic he was actually interested in, however, and so he supposed he may as well participate in it. How many more chances would he have to talk of Alexandrea before her death and, more than likely, his own?

"She was kind to me," he let pass through his mouth, "not at first, but it came with time."

"You sold yourself out because a girl was _nice_ to you? Is that all it takes to break you?" Rumlow's smile was that of a wolf's.

"She told me she loved me."

"You think that _means_ something?"

"I _think_ ," he countered, eyes shooting daggers up at Rumlow's face. This was the first time he'd felt the need to do so, the first thing he'd said which held any weight at all. "That she is the first person to make me _feel_ anything."

"Exactly, buddy," Rumlow laughed, placing an unfriendly hand on the Soldier's shoulder, "and that's _exactly_ why you're going to kill her."

\--

When Dominika had told Autumn to make sure that Sasha didn't figure her life out too well, Sasha had failed to realize that meant she was going to be tortured. It was an honest enough mistake, she figured; how was she supposed to know that 'stay here with her' meant 'get creative with a knife'?

She hadn't wanted to, that much was easily identifiable in her features. As soon as the door panel had slid shut and Autumn had reached down into her boot for the knife tucked inside, she'd momentarily looked up to make eye contact with Sasha, begging for forgiveness with that one look. In fact, Sasha didn't even know if she could be mad at Autumn for what she was doing to her. The poor girl was in the same situation as Bucky, wasn't she?

 _Typical you_ , a voice, one sounding suspiciously like Bucky's - her Bucky, not the brainwashed one she'd only managed to hurt herself with - whispered in the back of her mind. _You're the one being tortured and you're worried about how the girl cutting you feels?_

For just a moment, the knife let up, and Sasha was able to stop a scream she hadn't known she was in the middle of. Autumn, upon ripping the fabric of her blouse open and seeing her scars, had at least been merciful enough to move to a different area instead of adding to the white pink cluster above her belly button. Sasha could be thankful for that. Instead, Autumn had used one hand to forcibly flip Sasha onto her stomach to begin carving into her back. The blade had seared against her skin, hot tears running down her face as warm drops of blood made it to the surface of her skin, and Sasha didn't realize how relieved she was to have that fucking knife off her until she felt the tip of it press back into her skin.

Just as she was ready to start screaming again, a voice, one that sounded like it was funneling into the room over a speaker system, spoke out. "That's enough, Autumn. I'm sure Miss Pierce has lost as much blood as she needs to."

Sasha didn't recognize the voice, but as soon as it gave the command, Autumn withdrew her knife and stood, backing away towards the corner of the room. Right. Well, at least now she had some time to calm down and a voice to distract her from the burning in her back.

Distantly, Sasha heard Autumn leaving the room. Then, the voice asked her, "Miss Pierce, are you well?"

"Seriously?" she gasped. Every time she breathed in, every time her lungs expanded, she could feel the fire, the searing pain. "You people... can fuck... right off."

"Such a venomous tone," the voice teased. Sasha must have lost more blood than she'd thought she had; she couldn't tell whether it was a man or a woman speaking to her. "At least now we know where Mr. Barnes picked it up from." The mention of Bucky's name made Sasha want to throw up, she was so angry at these people for mentioning it. Had they done this to him, too? Made him bleed and cry until he gave in?"

No. Bucky wasn't as soft as she was. She was stubborn, sure, but Bucky could stone face his way through just about any situation imaginable. A knife would never have been enough to make him break.

She must have been thinking to herself out loud, because the next moment, the voice said, "If you're really that curious, we can show you what made him crack. In fact, you might appreciate it much more than he did, I think. How about it, Miss Pierce?"

Sasha didn't know how many cuts Autumn had opened on her back, but she'd lost enough blood already to make her head feel cloudy. At that moment, she just didn't have it in her to decline the offer or even to tell them all to fuck off again like she wanted to. That meant they'd take her silence as an agreement. This whole situation was basically her own personalized hell.

There was silence in the room for only a moment, and Sasha thought she might be able to fall asleep before any bullshit started when, suddenly, it happened. Something she knew would have made Bucky snap like a twig in two seconds flat.

"Do you know what my favorite thing about you is?" _His_ voice. It was _his_ voice. "It's that even though you know you can't win, you still fight. I knew there was a reason I loved you."

That time Sasha was pretty sure that she _had_ thrown up, but her memory was so fuzzy that she couldn't really be sure. If they'd... If they had used her voice in place of his while he had been held captive, had urged him in her voice to get him to accept the mind wipe with open arms, Bucky would have never stood a chance. Her poor... her poor Bucky...

"You wanna know something funny?" his voice asked her, sounding genuinely like it found something humorous. "They told me you were pregnant right before I had them take my memories away, you know that? I guess you could say that it drove me over the edge. Told me you were dead, then told me we would have had a kid, and I guess I kind of just... lost it. I mean, I couldn't... I couldn't _wait_ to forget you after that. Your memories were too poisonous for me to handle, and you were _all_ I thought about."

They'd told him... they'd told him she was pregnant? Why would they have done that? How would they have even _known_ that?

"Wait," she cried out, barely managing to lift her head, "no, I... _no_. You people... you're _sick_."

"Are they? Or are _you_ the one who's sick? Don't you think that if you'd just told me about the baby, I would have been able to protect you better? Because I would have known? Does that not make sense to you? Or are you really _that much_ of a selfish bitch? Huh?"

Ignoring the pain it brought her, Sasha brought her hands up to cover her ears, letting her forehead rest on the cool floor. "I'm not... I didn't even... I'm not..." She didn't need this; it wasn't good for her. Bucky would never say things like that to her. That was what she needed to tell herself. Bucky wouldn't ever wish her any ill will.

And yet... somehow this disembodied voice had her doubting that. It was stupid, and she shouldn't listen to it, but... she couldn't help it.

"Better wake up to the real world now, baby doll," the voice taunted, "because there's no one coming to save you now."

\--

"We need to mobilize _right the fuck now,_ " Clint yelled, standing up from his place at the monitor and running for the communal lounge. Everyone would be in there, he was sure; they all might have pretended to be antisocial outcasts but Clint knew his friends secretly craved each other's presences. " _Right now!_ We gotta fucking _go!_ "

Natasha immediately sprung up from her place on the couch, and Clint only barely had time to appreciate how her hair, so messy and fuzzy from her lazy day, bounced around her shoulders. "What's up?"

Steve went rigid as well, eyes darting first to Sam, then to Clint. "How bad?"

"I don't know, just, fucking... they're having some other girl torture her, and I don't know how long we have, but it's definitely not as long as we thought, so we need to get that tracker online and _find her._ "

"Thor's still not back from his trip," Bruce argued from his chair in the corner. "He said he had a solution."

Sam shot a look Bruce's way, probably one that wasn't meant to look as pissed off as it did, but ended up that way nonetheless. "I don't give a damn _what_ Thor had in mind, if my sister is in trouble, she's in _trouble_. I will _not_ let them kill her. The twins are still here, we can take them."

Tony stood and threw his hands in the air. "We _know_ , alright? We fucking _know_. I get that she's your sister, Wilson, but the rest of us care about that girl just as much as you do, so chill out and realize that we are _just_ trying to do what we think is best."

"Listen, Stark-"

"Boys, don't you think maybe-?"

"You all need to stop arguing-"

Clint lifted his leg and let his foot crash against the glass coffee table in the room, watching as it fractured into a million pieces. He'd done it prematurely, before the yelling could get too loud, but at least now he had his teammates god damned attention again. "Do you guys wanna shut the _fuck up?_ "

All of them silenced almost immediately. Well, thank god. Clint should get into the habit of breaking things more often, maybe.

"I don't know if you guys comprehend the situation, but there is a girl having a knife traced over her back with no mercy and who is going to be killed in a day or two, maybe even a few _hours_ for all we know. So stop arguing about who likes her more, act like the adults you are supposed to be, and get your asses in gear, because if she dies, it is on all of _you_. Do you all understand that?"

They all stared at him, but Clint didn't care. He was itching to leave the tower and follow the tracker to wherever Sasha was so that they could save her ass and put this whole situation to a rest. They were _that_ close to this whole thing being over. There was no sense in arguing about dumb shit anymore.

Tony sighed, then shrugged. "You guys suit up. Somebody tell the twins we're going on a trip, and I'm gonna... hope to god we can get to her before they do anything else."

Although Clint was hopeful and trying to be optimistic, for some reason he couldn't shake the feeling in his stomach that no matter how they tried, they just wouldn't be able to move fast enough.


	35. Maybe I Don't Want Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Happy holidays! I hope you're having a great time and that you enjoy this chapter! I'm just gonna leave a quick warning here, the very first section before the page break includes mentions of nonconsensual situations. Nothing goes into detail, but I'd just like everyone to be aware of it!

She'd passed out with her hands covering her ears, trying to escape the torments of Bucky's - the _real_ Bucky's - voice, probably as a result of blood loss or something, and had been in and out of consciousness for longer than probably was healthy. Sasha had seen realistic visions in her sleep, though not ones she would want to reflect upon in her waking hours, things like blood, pain, memories of Bucky she really ought to start pushing away at this point.

As soon as that thought crossed her mind, Sasha shook her head to attempt to rid herself of it. If she let herself think like that, let herself think that starting to suppress the memories, even the bad ones, was a good idea, she would start on a bad path. Eventually she'd start trying to forget the happy memories, too, and the goodness and purity she'd felt in her heart while they'd been together. And she couldn't have that, couldn't let that become her reality, not only after a _day_ of being in this fucking cell. Bucky had probably at least had the decency to take more than twenty four hours to crack, and so she owed it to him to make sure she lasted as long as she could stand.

To make that happen, Sasha had taken to recalling their happier times in her waking hours, the same action she'd taken to remember what he'd been like while they'd stayed at the motel. It was all she had left of him, her memory, and though it pained her, it was also soothing to know that everything they'd shared had been real.

For some reason, she was stuck on the first time he'd held her in his arms. She'd been crying, very distraught over her mother, practically to the point of incoherency, and when Bucky had seen how distraught she had been, how hard a time she'd had, he'd done what his instincts had told him to. He'd wrapped his arms around her, let her cry, had whispered to her in both English and Russian to comfort her. She still wasn't sure what exactly it was that he'd said in the foreign language, only that it had given her a sense of security, and so she had continued to allow him holding her, through the rest of the night and for months afterward.

A few times, Sasha brought herself back from thoughts of the past to think about more recent events, particularly what Bucky's voice had said to her.

_They told me you were pregnant. Don't you think you should have told me? Or are you really that much of a selfish bitch?_

Yeah. Maybe not the best thing for her at the time, but what else was she going to focus on? The slices stinging the flesh of her back? The fear she felt every time she even heard footsteps coming near her cell? Those were probably just as unhealthy to think about. At this point, it was simply a matter of her picking her poison.

Sasha heard heavy footfalls outside her cell, and when they stopped directly when they had become the loudest, making her realize that someone was coming _in_ to see her, her response was to back as far into the corner as she could. She hated what this cell had made her become, how frightened she was. In her mind, Sasha used to think of herself as courageous and brave, somebody with a pretty good handle on herself. Ever since she'd been shoved into this god forsaken cell - hell, ever since those four assholes had chased her down that day to use her against Bucky - she'd become someone she didn't particularly like. Somebody weak, somebody who couldn't stand up for herself. Of course, to be fair to herself she _was_ at a physical disadvantage, but that wasn't really what she wanted to think about, either. Everything else aside, she was really mad that she was reduced to cowering in fear.

The wall slid open, something Sasha still wasn't used to, and in stepped a man who seemed as though he were all too happy to be there. It took her a second to place him, but after a moment, the dark skin and light eyes snapped into place in her mind. This was the man named Jacoby, the one who had slammed her into the ground and whispered to her about how he'd enjoyed carving a word into her flesh. Chills were running up her spine just thinking about that. How someone could _enjoy_ inflicting so much physical pain on others...

"And how are we doing, Miss Pierce?" Jacoby's voice, mockingly sympathetic, inquired. "Everything has been to your liking, I hope?"

Something about him wouldn't let Sasha be quick witted. With Dominika, it was second nature; the girl pissed her off so much that it just came naturally, before she could even think twice. Nothing had come to mind when it had been Autumn in the room with her because, well, what does one say to the girl that's doing the torturing? Nothing. But, Jacoby? He genuinely frightened Sasha. It wasn't clear why, and Sasha was very confused about it, but something about Jacoby gave her a sense of truly unhinged chaos. So, instead of sassing him like she normally would have done to anybody else, she simply bit her lip and looked up at him, trying extremely hard not to cry.

"What, nothing to say this time?" he asked, stalking further into the room. His posture was carefree, relaxed, but Andrea knew that, just like Bucky, he could snap into defense mode at any second if she tried anything. When he finally reached her corner, Jacoby knelt down to cup her cheek. Sasha did her best to violently shake his touch away. "You had plenty of threats to make when you thought your boyfriend could still save you."

His words were of a venomous quality. Sasha knew the type; if she didn't respond, they would only grow harsher. If she gave in to the antagonization, there was no telling _what_ Jacoby's next action would be. At this point she wasn't sure that she wanted to know, because this situation didn't look good. A man, one who could do anything he chose to her, was baiting her into a punishment of some sort. It didn't look good for her at all.

Raising an eyebrow and becoming visibly annoyed that she wasn't yet responding, Jacoby let his hand drift down to the white fabric of her shirt, soaked with scarlet blooms of her own blood, fabric Autumn had torn up to get at her skin with the knife. Now the whole blouse was falling apart, and Sasha was very conscious of the fact that her decency in front of Jacoby was almost literally only hanging on by a thread. "Do you know why he dressed you the way he did?" he asked, voice softening for only a moment. "Why he bought the clothing that he did for you?"

Before she could stop herself from getting sucked in, Sasha immediately let slip, "Why?"

Stupid. She was giving in, and it was _stupid_.

"Because," Jacoby murmured, pulling at a piece of her blouse. It was already so damaged that the little tension made the piece sever immediately. "Even while he was brainwashed, even while he had virtually no emotion, he still thought of you as some sort of delicate angel child who needed his protecting. That's why he picked the dainty fabrics, the pastels. It was some psychological need to prove you were something worth needing saving." Jacoby pulled on another strip of fabric, and Sasha could hear the rip of the fabric as she felt more of her stomach and side becoming exposed. "Unfortunately for you... I don't share the same sentiment."

Sasha didn't like the way his voice had become smooth as marble, the way his body had tensed and taken on the posture of a cobra ready to strike. Something in her heart told her this was heading in a less than desirable direction. Well, not just her heart; all her senses were yelling at her, screaming to correct what she could feel was about to happen, and so she decided she would do her best. It wasn't clear what she thought might come of Jacoby being in her cell, looking so ready to act rashly. All she knew was that it couldn't be anything good.

"Nobody in the world would need saving if assholes like you didn't exist." There. Maybe not the best delusion, but at least it was something. At least she was standing up for herself, if only in some small sense of the concept.

Jacoby's hand, the one at the fabric on her abdomen, suddenly cupped around the indentation between her hip and her rib cage, right where her waist was. Leaning in so close that Andrea could smell the faint scent of liquor on his breath (which, at least, explained something), Jacoby let his lips find their way to her ear. Ice crept through her veins as he opened his mouth to whisper into it, and she shivered out of disgust and fear.

"Yeah, well, assholes like me are _always_ going to exist. It just _sucks_ for... sweet, little... helpless... _innocent_ girls like you."

There was a wicked gleam in Jacoby's eyes that Sasha had seen maybe twice before from other men. And she _knew_ that look. It was not one that gave her comfort, that made her feel safe or even just generally fine with her situation. This was the look of a man who was slightly unhinged, one who wanted to inflict as much damage on a girl's dignity and sense of self as was possible, even if it meant... even if it meant violating her, because Jacoby wasn't looking at Sasha like she was a person anymore. No, he was looking at her like she was something to boost his pride.

An object.

She pressed her back into the wall as far as she could, hoping maybe if she tried hard enough she would simply disappear. But luck, it seemed, was not on her side, and it probably never really had been, because no matter how much she hoped, it didn't stop Jacoby from shooting forward and pressing sloppy kisses on her mouth.

A hot iron spike stabbed its way into her stomach, one that said every fiber of her being was in the act of being violated in that moment. There was something about being kissed by a man when the contact was nonconsensual, something that made Sasha want to cease existing for as long as it had to continue. There was warm wetness trailing down her cheeks and she couldn't tell whether it was because she was crying or because Jacoby was relentless. All Sasha knew was that if this situation went anywhere near where she thought it was going, she would need to figure out how to dissociate. Mainly so that she wouldn't have to experience the... _violation_ , but also so that maybe, _just maybe_ she could forget about it if it did come to pass.

That didn't mean she wasn't going to fight for herself before she gave up, though.

"Get... get _off_ me..." she tried to protest. The key word there was tried. She couldn't quite get the words out of her mouth, Jacoby was pressing his so hard against hers, but if he didn't understand that, she was sure he could understand the batting of her hands against any part of him she could reach. When that didn't work either, she started utilizing her nails and scratching at the skin of his face. Jacoby might have been a trained agent, but Sasha knew scratches still stung like a bitch. "I said get _off me!_ "

Suddenly, mercifully, Jacoby took his mouth away, but only so that he could forcefully wrench Sasha's hands above her head, eliciting a sharp cry of pain from the squeezing and the strain on the flesh of her shoulder blades, where some of the cuts had been set. The noise of her hurt only seemed to draw out some kind of malicious satisfaction in the man before her, and she could feel him squeeze her wrists harder as he shifted to hold the both of them against the wall with one hand.

"And who's going to make me?" he questioned. Almost as an afterthought, almost just to prove that he could do it, he used his free hand to fist in the fabric of her blouse before pulling. _Hard_.

Glancing down slightly, Sasha could see that the whole front had been ripped open, turning her top into a really ineffective vest which revealed the black lace cups of the bra she'd been wearing however long ago it had been when Bucky had demanded she change before practically running her out to the car. In that moment she hadn't thought about the color contrast between the bra and the shirt, and she didn't really care now. What she _did_ care about was the fact that now Jacoby could see it.

"Hmm? Your pet assassin? Your special little boyfriend, who, by the way, is scheduled to kill you before the day is up?"

Sasha could feel the bile rising up in her throat. This situation was dangerous, Jacoby's hands were all over her, and there was nothing she could do to get out of it. Worst of all, what Jacoby was saying wasn't at all far from the truth. In the past, it _had_ been Bucky to rescue her. That hadn't really ever bothered her before, because, well, it _was_ somewhat convenient having a master assassin as a boyfriend, but now a new sense of clarity was being shed on her life. When was the last time she'd protected herself? When was the last time she hadn't depended on anybody to get her out of shit like this but herself? Once upon a time she would've liked to think that she considered herself independent, a strong twenty year old who was doing well for her age. Looking back on the last - what, half a year? More? How long had it been since she was just like any other college kid? - of her life, she realized she'd become something of a damsel in distress.

If she could get out of this alive, maybe in one piece, she promised herself she would fix that. Although at the rate Jacoby was going, Sasha wasn't sure if she would even make it to her execution. She wanted to say something more, to protest, but the words just wouldn't come to her mouth, and she was, for all intents and purposes, petrified.

She might have promised herself she would be strong in the future, but for now, there was just no action she could feasibly carry out to save herself.

Jacoby's hand, the one not holding her wrists against the wall, was roving over the flesh of her stomach, fingers tracing the scars of the word he'd carved there some months ago. "Wanna know what the best part of this whole thing is?" For the past few minutes, Sasha had been playing a mental game with herself, trying to identify what exactly it had been that this man had gotten drunk on before coming to see her. At the moment, if she had to bet money, she would've said vodka. "It's that they can see _exactly_ what is happening right now. Through the cameras."

"What?" Sasha managed to gasp out. For a moment, for only one moment, she thought Jacoby meant the cameras in her contact lenses, and thinking of that only sent her deeper into a flurry of panic. Everyone back at the tower could potentially be seeing her assault in action, could maybe even witness something a lot worse if there really wasn't anyone to come along and help her. Honestly, she'd forgotten that the whole reason she was even in this situation was because she insisted that she be the one to save her brother and his wife, and that she had friendly eyes tracking her every move. "What are you talking about?"

Jacoby smirked, finally let go of her wrists and, before she even processed it, slammed her down on the floor, moving to straddle her hips. The force of her back hitting the ground actually made her cry out, the cuts stung so bad, and the weight of him on top of her made her realize how truly powerless she was to change anything about what was to happen to her. "This cell has probably the most cameras out of all the ones we have. There are people in the main room twenty-four-seven, constantly watching every little twitch you make. They know that I'm here, they can see what I'm doing to you, what I'm _about_ to do, and yet... no one seems to care. You can scream, and cry, and be as scared as you want, but in the end?" His mouth found its to the base of her throat and he ran his tongue up her skin, stopping to press a kiss to the point of her chin. " _I_ am in full control of what happens to you. There's no one left in the world who cares one way or another. You know why? Because you'll be dead by the end of the day anyway."

With that, Jacoby saw fit to end the conversation there, and started pushing for what he'd intended to carry out all along. He started kissing her, forcing her mouth open with his, his hands touching all over, and Sasha wanted nothing more than to recede inside herself or stop living or _something_. There was no use in fighting back; nail scratches were ineffective, hitting and punching wasn't working.

"I'm going to enjoy this," Jacoby laughed, voice filled with glee. God, it was so enthusiastic that Sasha thought it sounded borderline psychotic. "You were the last thing he had. Once I take you... and, later, once he kills you... he will be a shell of a man. He will have _nothing_. And then he will truly have nothing to live for, except taking orders and killing."

"Oh, spare me," Sasha managed to choke out through her tears. If this was happening, then she wanted it to happen already. She just wanted this to be over and done with.

"I am sorry, Alexandrea." That was funny, because he didn't sound sorry in the slightest. "But you are, for lack of better terms, simply a means to an end."

It almost felt like she was having an out of body experience. Sasha felt like she was watching herself with this man from across the room, watching and feeling it as his hands made their way down to her hips and began unbuttoning her jeans, lifting his head and keeping from breaking eye contact the whole time. She could feel it as his hands began pulling them down her hips, her thighs...

... and then she felt the relief of pressure atop her body as someone quite literally lifted Jacoby off her and threw him against the opposite wall of the cell.

\--

Wanda wasn't actually sure what was happening, but what she did know was that everyone was in complete and total chaos. And, if she was being honest, despite what they were gearing up to go and deal with in a few hours? It was actually sort of hilarious.

It all started when she'd been racing to get her suit on. Clint had come to her guest room, told her Sasha was in big trouble and that they would need to go and rescue her immediately, so Wanda had dashed back to her suitcase and put her fighting suit on when, all of a sudden from down the hall, she heard in the unmistakable voice of Tony Stark, " _What the fuck is he doing in my house?_ "

That had sent Wanda into an even higher gear than she had been in before, and as quickly as she could - though nowhere near as fast as her brother - she ran out of her room and down the hall, to the living room everyone used most commonly. Really, she'd dashed there without thinking, and hadn't known what to expect upon her arrival, but what she found was not something she looked at as a danger.

No, what she found was... _definitely_ more attractive.

He stood maybe six feet and three inches tall, just a little shorter than Thor, who was standing beside him. His skin was pale as ivory, hair black and long, though not excessively so. The man had a sharp bone structure, all cheek bones and high angles, which leant him a regal appearance. That certainly wasn't harmed by the way he carried himself, posture ramrod straight in the black suit accented by the dark green tie around his throat. His eyes were ice blue, a feature Wanda could make out even from her place across the room, and she noticed as they darted over to take in her appearance.

Funny. For some reason, his gaze seemed to hold her in place. Wanda didn't know this man, but he wasn't giving off any hostile vibes, and she figured the tower could use some excitement that didn't correlate to Sasha's life being in danger.

Once she got past the initial shock of the stranger's beauty, Wanda brought herself back to reality and caught the last of Thor's defense which had been directed Tony's way. "He isn't here to make trouble, Stark, he is here to _help_."

"Although, to be fair," the stranger interjected, accent transforming his words into sharp sarcasm, "I _am_ the god of mischief."

Oh, yes, definitely a reassuring title.

Was it wrong that Wanda enjoyed the sound of it rolling from his voice?

Thor side eyed the man, giving him a look that said he wasn't helping. The man looked back, more amused than anything else, and only a little ways away from unapologetic. Wanda recognized that it was the same expression Pietro sometimes pulled, the most recent one having been when he'd taken a liking to shamelessly flirting with Sasha in her boyfriend's absence.

"I don't care what he's here for," Tony said flatly, "but I don't want him here. Get him out _now_."

"Why do you refuse to listen? I am telling you, Loki knows exactly how to fix this!"

"I'm sorry, are we talking about the same guy who unleashed an alien invasion in this city two years ago?"

"I did _apologize_ ," the man, apparently named Loki, mumbled to the notice of neither of the men before him.

"Loki has magic," Thor insisted. "I know you don't like him, and I don't blame you, but he has been through a similar pain. As you well know, pain brings people together, like it did for our team. My brother has been through much since the first time he made his way to this realm, and he is willing to help save Lady Sasha from a pain he knows all too well. You must let him _help_."

A man with magic. Another person, a _man_ , with magic. Somebody like her. Perhaps their powers might not be identical, but he identified them as _magic_ , just as Wanda identified hers. There was a strong sense in her stomach that said perhaps she should learn the particulars, get to know Loki and see if he could shed any light for her and her own abilities.

"You'll excuse me for interrupting," Loki sighed, raising a hand and curling it into a fist to rest his chin on, "but I do believe we've a guest." Wanda didn't realize he meant her until she saw that his eyes, piercingly blue, were back on her face. "Hello, there, darling. What's your name?"

Taken off guard, she was silent for a few moments before shaking herself out of it. After that she held herself more confidently and walked closer to the scene before her, arms crossed over her abdomen. "I'm Wanda. I take it you are Loki?" Not that she'd known that up until about five seconds ago, but she could pretend for the sake of impressing.

"Wanda," Tony stepped in, rolling his eyes at Loki and subconsciously holding his hand out, almost as if to keep Wanda from getting any closer. "You really don't want to talk to this guy, he's not worth your time. Besides. We need to get going."

Before Wanda could make a sarcastic retort, Steve hurried into the room in full Captain America gear. "Look, we gotta fucking go. _Now_."

"I'm glad you think so too," Tony sighed, dragging a hand down his face, "and we can do that as soon as I get it through Thor's head that murder brother here was not invited to the party." Thor and Loki both rolled their eyes as a response to Tony's whining.

What Wanda had managed to notice that none of them had, however, was that Steve was distressed. And, well, not just in the usual way when it came to Sasha. No, there was a look that said either the unthinkable or the impossible had happened; perhaps a tad bit of both. She had only just met Sasha the day or two before she'd gone out to save her brother, and though they were not close with each other, that didn't mean Wanda disliked the girl. Actually, she had hoped that once everything had been sorted out that maybe they could be real friends. Wanda had always wanted someone to do things with, one that was not her twin brother.

"What is it?" she murmured, looking at Steve in horrified wonder. "Something's gone wrong, I can tell. What is it?"

Now Loki was interested. "Has something happened to Lady Sasha?" Sasha's name rolled off Loki's tongue smoothly, and Wanda found that she was generally fascinated with the way he spoke his words.

Steve glanced over at him, really seeing him for the first time, and actually dismissed it as he aimed his answer toward Wanda. "Someone was about to... do something pretty bad to her. Uh... _violate_ her, to sugarcoat it. But before it could happen... someone threw him off her. Might've killed him with the force of that throw."

"Something tells me that's not what's upsetting you," Loki muttered under his breath. Wanda distantly found the ability to think that amusing, and let her eyes fall on the graceful arcs of his cheekbones. Her eyes, after a few moments, began to wander up his features, and Wanda hadn't taken in the possibility that Loki might be looking back at her. His gaze caught hers, and, subtly enough that no one else would notice, he flashed her a joking, crooked grin.

Steve sighed impatiently, placing his hands on his hips and making him look like even more of an old man. "We can talk about it on the way, we don't have time right now. I just need you to know, Bucky's not the only one they've got trained to be a tool for them."

"Who else could they _have?_ " Tony demanded, raking a hand through his unkempt hair. "There's no way they could've made anyone close to your army buddy. He's, like, scary good."

" _Suit up_ ," Steve pushed, effectively ending the speculation there. Wanda didn't know what had him so shaken, but she was sure it wouldn't be long before she found out. Taking a few steps and pausing to backtrack, Steve turned back to Thor. "Bring your creepy brother. We'll find something for him to do."

Following those words, Tony went after Steve, throwing his argument at somebody who had stopped listening moments ago. Thor excused himself from the room, mentioning that he needed to go and pick Mjölnir up from where he'd placed it in his bedroom. This left Wanda hyper aware of Loki's presence, an electric shock running up her spine as she realized she had been left alone with him.

"I think this means you and I will have some time to get acquainted with one another," he said softly, taking a few steps towards where she stood. Wanda could feel her palms tingling with giddiness.

"I suppose so," she responded. "I, um, I think they're probably going to want us to get on the quinjet."

Loki smirked, seemingly conscious of the effect he was having in her. "Then allow me to escort you."

\--

Something had broken, a type of mental dam, he supposed, when he'd come to the cell to witness that... _disgusting_ man - if he could even be _called_ that - on top of the girl he was slowly beginning to want to take responsibility for. His orders had been simple and succinct: got to the cell, collect Miss Pierce, prepare for the execution which was to take place in a short frame of time. He had done as he'd been told, had come to the cell which he found to be open, and observed in what he could only describe as pure, unadulterated rage. There were things he'd been taught to tolerate explicitly by the Hydra agents who had been in charge of him for the past seven decades or so; allowing a man to force himself on a girl who was little more than a child was _not_ one of them. The subject had never been touched, had never been run through with him in a hypothetical scenario, but what he did know was that it evoked some type of feeling, and it was a feeling he could only act on in the most brutal of fashions.

As he charged forward, fully prepared to carry out an action which would more than likely get him into trouble with his superiors, something strange happened to him. He was moving swiftly, thrusting his hands out to grasp at the man on top of Alexandrea, but there were thoughts flashing in his mind simultaneously, things that only took his focus away for a moment or so.

_"Everyone's got a favorite color. Like mine? Mine's purple. Purple's rad as fuck."_

_"Drink the coffee, Bucky. The unsweetened life is no way to live."_

_"I wasn't upset. It's just, I didn't want to not see you again._ "

The flashbacks, the sweet after taste of them coating the back of his throat, gave him only momentary pause before he grabbed Jacoby by the back of his neck with his metal hand, perhaps squeezing a bit too hard, and threw the man across the cell, not waiting to hear the loud thump resounding before kneeling down to check on Alexandrea. Even these actions were intermingled with memories in his mind, forcing him to recall a time when he'd done the same thing for her, a long time ago, before even knowing her name.

"I'm... okay," she whispered in much the same way as she had back then, the words barely managing to stumble out of her mouth through her trembling and sobbing. A need to shield this girl, to protect her, was beginning to unveil itself. There was a voice that said this was how it should be, how it was meant to be, how it was _designed_ to be.

But... at the same time... he was not meant to break protocol, to ignore the orders of his superiors. He wanted to protect her, he felt the instinct to do so, and yes, he was starting to remember much... but he just couldn't. There was no room to disobey.

A machine which malfunctioned was to be immediately decommissioned. He could not risk that fate. Not for anything in the world.

Despite that, it didn't mean he couldn't offer her comfort before carrying out the unavoidable.

"How can I help?" he murmured, truly observing her for the first time. Alexandrea's hair was frizzy and tangled, having seen better days which involved hairbrushes and styling products before she had come to this hell. The shirt he'd chosen for her, the pretty white one which had made him feel some type of way upon seeing it on her body, later around her in tatters, offering no modesty whatsoever as the dark cups of the bra she wore contrasted starkly against her skin, and even that was only hanging on by a single clasp, as Miss Kazakova had sent her... _other_ special asset to inflict pain upon Alexandrea quite some time earlier. Her clothing was soaked in blood, the sticky substance having dried itself in her hair, and he could see many of the open slices at her back as she curled into her side, still trying to reassure herself that Jacoby was no longer a threat to her. "What do you need?"

"For this to be _done_ ," she spat out, hugging the floor as though it would swallow her up and grant her peace of mind. "I just... I just want to be _done_." The sick thing was, in about an hour or so, she'd be getting her wish. Now wasn't the time to appreciate irony, but.

"You shouldn't say things like that." What did he do? Did he try to make her feel better, knowing that she wasn't going to make it through the day? Knowing that he would be the one to look her in the eyes, eyes his memories were clinging on to, and pull the trigger? This was _so_ fucked up. "You don't... you don't mean that. You don't want to die."

In a moment of what seemed to be perfect clarity, Alexandrea turned her head, still curled into a ball and holding herself, and met his eyes straight on. "You're right. I don't. And I don't know if you remember what I told you that day we kissed, when it had been for the very first time; I don't know if you remember anything at all. But I do. I remember everything. And I told you, right before you kissed me, that you were worth the pain."

It took him a second to figure out what to say to that. In the end, he settled for simplicity. "Have you changed your mind? Am I not now?" Had her answer been in the affirmative, his feelings would not have been touched. At this point, he was simply curious.

"Oh my _god_ ," Alexandrea gasped out, sounding so hysterical that it were almost as though she was laughing. "Of _course_ you are. You don't even _remember_ me and you're still worried you aren't good enough for me, Jesus Christ. You are worth this pain, Bucky Barnes, _all_ of it, but there's only so much I can take before I crack, and I just... If you loved me, if you _ever_ loved me, then I need you to make this easier on me. So just promise me... promise that when they have you kill me you'll do it quick, okay?"

Furrowing his brow, he couldn't help but feel perplexed at her words. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, no offense, but you really aren't one for, uh... getting things done quick." Was it him, or was she blushing? "You drag things out. Make sure I feel it."

He could not _believe_ what he was hearing. "Was that... was that a _sex_ joke?"

"You're missing the point!" Alexandrea let out, amazingly sounding close to laughter. It lasted only a split second though, as her expression sobered. "You're missing the point. I'm asking you to do this for me. I don't want to die, and I don't want you to kill me, but I know that this is what we've come down to. So I'm just asking you... If you loved me - or, if you _think_ you did, even just a little bit - make it quick. Please. Promise me."

There was little else he could say. He didn't know if he had loved her, still wasn't quite sure what love was, and though he was feeling lighthearted, like he wanted to keep her alive and safe, that wasn't his choice to make. For a split second he wished he could go against his commands, that he could be selfish for once, just once, and keep this small bloom of hope and purity for himself.

He'd have liked to. He just didn't know how.

"I promise," he whispered to her. "And I'm sorry, but we're out of time together. I'm sorry. Truly."

Slowly, so slowly it seemed as though the universe itself was holding its breath, Alexandrea managed to peel herself from the floor. When she was about half way up he offered her his hand, just for what it was worth, and when she took his hand and he was able to help her to her feet, he found that he wished he could keep this small ray of light to himself. Once she was standing, torso bare but for the bra securing what little of her modesty was left, she murmured back, "I forgive you."

For a fleeting second, an idea popped its way into his head, and before he could decide otherwise, he acted upon it. He placed his arm around her torso, gently so as not to disturb the lacerations on her back, urged her up to her tiptoes, and placed a decisive kiss on her forehead. It wasn't much for either of them, he supposed, but it felt pleasant.

"It's time to go," he sighed, and slowly letting her back down to the flats of her feet, waited only a few seconds more before leading her past the unconscious body of the man who had tried to harm her and out of the cell, into what would be her end.


	36. Push Away the Unimaginable

Ever since she'd been a little girl, Sasha had pictured what her death might be like in her head. Early on she had decided that it wasn't going to be in her sleep, because that was one of the most boring ways to go, and she just couldn't handle the thought of planning out her actions for the next day and not being able to carry them through. No, she had preferred to think that her death would be exciting, in a morbid sort of way.

When Sasha had been very small, around six or seven years old, she'd thought about airplane crashes. Not the accidental kind either; she had dreamed of reenacting Captain America's bravery (Steve had been her hero at the time) of sinking an aircraft for the good of other people. A few years later she thought on whether she would rather drown or be burned alive, and after that had gone on to wonder how badly suffocation and asphyxiation would hurt. When she was thirteen or fourteen she had made herself stop thinking about the intricacies of her death, as the thoughts had begun to snowball into existential crises that even Calix and her father had had a hard time pulling her out of.

Now, as Bucky led her down the clean, cold looking hallways of the Hydra base they seemed to be in the heart of, those morbid thoughts seemed to be whispering to her, creeping their ways back into her head. She had not, when she was little, thought to prepare herself for straight up murder, hadn't thought her death would be so precise. How could she have known to anticipate that? And especially of how it was to be carried out? Not once when she was little had she thought her life would be ended in homicide, and definitely not by the one man she had loved more than anything.

They were holding hands now, on their walk to her death. Bucky had taken her into his arms, kissed her forehead decidedly, and had let all but her hand go, rubbing comforting circles into the back of her hand with his thumb. It was all she was letting herself focus on, all that was keeping her from breaking as he marched her through the Hydra base, determined to let her eyes view without seeing. They walked passed other agents, mostly men, but there were girls just the same.

Girls young enough to be her age.

Girls even younger, like Autumn.

Would it hurt to die? When Bucky eventually pulled the trigger on her, when there was a loud crack in the air and a hot lead bullet through her skull, would she be able to feel it? The burning sensation she had felt upon being semiconscious when they'd left her to recover in Tony's lab; would that be present when getting shot in the head, or would everything just instantly come to an end?

Then again, she didn't even know if that was how she was fated to die. It would be by Bucky's hand, and it would be while Hydra agents, Dominika included, watched. But would Dominika allow her death to be so quick? After having that lovely conversation which ended in Autumn's torturing her, Sasha had realized that perhaps her ex-best friend disliked her a little more than she had originally thought. The reasons for the malicious treatment continued to remain fuzzy, but that wasn't exactly relevant. Would she let Sasha's death come quickly, by way of a bullet? Or would she have Bucky draw it out and literally watch as the life faded from her eyes?

No matter the method, she could at least console herself with the fact that his would be the last face she saw.

As he led her into a room, one that almost looked like the room in the hospital where major surgeries were performed, complete with an overhead glass window for observers, Sasha was struck by the fact that Bucky Barnes was it for her, in every sense of the phrase. This was the man who had looked at her and found something enchanting enough to want. A man who had, despite having every reason to lose trust in all people, had taken her into his arms and held her close, giving everything he possibly could have away in the process. Including his own individuality. Bucky Barnes was, no questions asked, the only man Sasha had ever loved.

And now he was going to kill her.

"Come this way," he murmured, ushering her towards the wall in the back of the room. Once there, he very gently took her wrist, lifted it above her head, and shackled it to one of the various beams running along its length. Sasha hadn't even noticed the numerous sets of cuffs decorating the wall until she turned to watch as Bucky did the same to her other wrist. This must've been some sort of execution room, then. Was it comforting to know her death would take place where so many others' had, or was it disconcerting? "I really don't want to do this to you."

If there was anything in the world to believe to be true, it was that statement. Sasha could see it in his eyes, his face, hear the sincerity of his tone. He wished her no harm. Back in the cell he'd apologized for what was meant to be, for having to be the one to carry the act out. Obviously she had forgiven him; how could she not have? This wasn't his fault. It wasn't hers, either, yet they seemed to be the only two people in existence who were willing to take the blame. Funny how it had worked out that way.

"I know you don't," she reassured him, letting her eyes fall shut and squeezing them tight. Her back, cut up into fleshy ribbons, was pressed against the wall, the cold of it seeping into her bloodstream thanks to the fact that she was only wearing a bra. It stung terribly, enough to bring tears to her eyes, but Sasha knew she had been through worse. Be that as it may, color swirls similar to those she'd seen while being subdued by the hydra agents in that alley made an appearance in her line of vision. How much blood had she lost from Autumn's torture? How much longer would she last? "You come here, you hear me? Come here."

Bucky stepped closer hesitantly, his right hand reaching up to softly caress her face. There would be none of this left for her when she passed. Or, perhaps, if fate was merciful and she made it to her own personal heaven, this was all that awaited her when life faded from her body. Just Bucky, tender touching, and the knowledge that no one could pry them apart any longer. "If there was any way I could let you go, I would. You know that, don't you? You know that." If only she could stop the tremble in his words, the pain in his heart.

Sasha leaned her face into his touch, her eyelashes brushing against the skin of his palm as she fluttered them back open. There was a certain remorse to his features that was characteristic of the time he'd decked her in his sleep. Amazing how that had become something beautiful for her to reflect upon in light of current events. God, this whole thing was just so hopeless for the both of them.

"I keep... seeing you," he whispered, something of a childlike fear in his eyes. "In my head. Just bits and pieces, but it's... It's definitely you. And I just keep thinking that I should apologize or something, because if I had realized it earlier, if you'd kept popping into my mind while we were in the motel, I could've let you go. We wouldn't be here, and you'd be safe, and I..."

"Wanna know a secret?" she asked, offering a soft half smile to the man before her. He made no response, so she took that as her cue. "None of this is your fault. I don't blame you for any of this, okay? We had a good run together. I knew exactly what I was getting into with you, and anyway..." Now was hardly the time, but she found her eyes perusing the defining lines of his mouth. "I think maybe if you just wanted to kiss me one last time, that would be all I need."

"What?" Bucky seemed to have almost done a double take, her request was apparently so astounding.

"Kiss me. Just one more time. It's all I need to feel at peace. If there's something you can give me, you can give me that." And as she said it, she knew it in her heart to be true. Because, though she had thought upon making a family with Bucky back before that stupid fucking day, it wasn't as though she needed that to feel fulfilled. At this point, she just wanted to die with this small victory over Hydra, which meant that if Bucky held her in his heart only slightly, she'd have won.

"Unfortunately," Dominika's voice, followed by the obnoxious clacking of her heels, interrupted them, fracturing the mock lighthearted feel she and Bucky had managed to craft with one another, "there won't be very much time for any of that. Soldier, if you'd be so kind as to collect the execution weapon, Autumn and I would be happy to keep Miss Pierce company."

He looked like he wanted to refuse. Like he wanted to turn around and back talk her, insult her, hit her, _something_. That was enough to make Sasha want to cry purely from happiness. God, he was _right there_ , and she _saw_ him. If she could only just push a little harder... Make him realize he could do it, that he was _not_ some kind of machine for others to use as they chose.

But the moment was fleeting, as moments so often were, and before Sasha could take hold of it, it had already disappeared.

"Yes, Ma'am," he muttered, biting his lip when he finished speaking. Bucky held her gaze, apologizing with his eyes as best as he could, and gave her cheek a gentle squeeze before turning to do as Dominika had asked.

Crying in front of Bucky was routine at this point; crying in front of Dominika was down right shameful and definitely _not_ something she was willing to let happen. That whole thing about either displaying confidence or getting eaten alive came flooding back to her mind immediately. She lifted her head up and straightened her posture, fixing her eyes directly on the two women coming towards her. Wow, she must have been getting a lot better at this than she'd realized. Turning her emotions off and pretending to be offhanded about everything else made experiences so much easier for her. This must have been what Bucky had been in the practice of back when he'd taken to denying himself his feelings for her.

"That's cute," Dominika remarked snidely, arching a brow at Sasha as she cocked her hip to the side and crossed her arms. "The fact that you thought he was going to kiss you, I mean. You should know by now that life isn't a fairy tale, hon. True love's kiss isn't gonna wake him up, and it sure as _hell_ ain't gonna save your ass."

"Don't know if you noticed," Sasha shot back, trying to remain cool and nonchalant. "But he was about ready to go ahead and do it. I have no idea why that's such a problem for you, but clearly it's struck a nerve."

Emotions flashed across the blonde's sharply angled face, the high cheekbones and regality intermingling with anger and what looked like... embarrassment? "Oh, believe me, those specific nerves and feelings were buried a _long_ time ago. They were dead by the first time I was the one to wipe his memory. That's how I was able to _do_ it."

And suddenly, a couple pieces fell into place. Why Dominika had been so interested in her relationship with Bucky back when she was playing Nova, why she was so fixated on causing Sasha as much bodily harm as possible, on top of all the emotional scarring. It made sense. _Everything_ made sense.

"You loved him," she murmured, understanding for the first time _exactly_ why all of this was going down the way it was. "Bucky, you... you were in love with him. That's why you're doing all of this, isn't it? It's why you want him to kill me, right? Because you want to make him hurt. You want him to kill me because he loves me, because you know if he were himself, he would never be able to live with the guilt."

Dominika's guard dropped for just a moment or so, but it dropped nonetheless. For a second, Sasha could see the hurt and pain underneath the walls of iron and steel she'd built around herself, could see the scared young girl lashing out to protect herself. "You know, that's something you and him have in common. You idolize him so much and put him on such a high fucking pedestal that he's the only one you can see in the whole god damned world. Bucky this, Bucky that, it's always Bucky! Do you ever get tired of trying to relate everything back to him in some kind of gigantic fucking illuminati conspiracy?"

"Miss Kazakova," Autumn let out gently, surprising Sasha. She'd forgotten Autumn was even present. "Perhaps it is not the wisest decision to engage-"

" _Stop talking!_ " Dominika all but screeched, whirling around to smack Autumn. Sasha felt the sting of the slap herself, cringed for Autumn reflexively. These punishments were so physical, all the time. Sasha supposed they weren't meant to put one in their place, to make them feel like a nothing, but sometimes it just felt a bit too personal. Quickly, almost as an afterthought, Dominika whirled back, charging close enough for Sasha to smell the thick lilac scent of her perfume. "You have no idea _what_ you're talking about, do you understand me? _None!_ Your whole life you've had people who loved you. Your _whole_ life. Be happy you never saw an orphanage, and even _happier_ that you didn't have to wait until you were twelve to be picked up by some sketch agent wanting to train you on how to kill people. Don't act like you have any _idea_ about the way I feel!"

" _I_ loved you!" Sasha cried, more upset than anything else. How, after their years together, could Dominika _say_ that? "You were the one friend I had, my _best_ friend! I would have done anything for you, you were one of the most important people in my life! So don't act like no one ever cared about you; I did! Apparently, you just never cared about me!"

"I'm not going to stand here and be guilted into feeling bad about what's about to happen to you," she snarled, complete malice in her eyes. This whole thing was such a whirlwind, Sasha didn't know what to think. One second Dominika seemed afraid and unsure, the next she seemed to be composed in total of hatred. What was Sasha meant to do with that? " _Especially_ not when it comes to this!"  
"I never asked you to feel guilty! You're the one bringing guilt up!"

Dominika opened her mouth to send back a scathing retort, but was ultimately cut off by Bucky's entering the room. He was followed by two men, one Sasha didn't think she had seen before and the other she immediately recognized as one of the men who'd been sent to abduct her with Jacoby; not McLoughlin, but one of the others. Rumlow, maybe? In Bucky's arms was cradled a large gun, one that looked as though it was designed for precision sniping.

Sasha let herself breathe out a sigh of relief. She didn't want to die, but she _really_ didn't want to die in a drawn out method. That gun was, at the moment, equivalent to her savior.

"Prepared for execution, Ma'am," Bucky muttered, stopping two feet behind Dominika and keeping his eyes trained at the floor. It was probably a sign of his submission, but Sasha wanted to think it was because he just couldn't bare to look at her. "Should I proceed?"

A thick moment of silence followed for a moment, until Dominika finally ceased her glaring and turned to face Bucky. "Yes. Proceed. And when you're done, we'll discuss your punishment for this whole ordeal." She stalked off to the far side of the room, Autumn, Rumlow, and the other agent all joining her, though Autumn in particular looked less than thrilled about it.

This was seriously happening.

Bucky came forth, making a show of checking the bonds to make sure they were secure. When he was at her left wrist, he spoke through his teeth, telling her, "This is meant to be a painful process. They want me to start from the bottom and work up. Shoot out your kneecaps first, then strategically placed hits that won't kill you, not until you bleed out." So maybe not as pain free as she thought. She must've made a face, because he continued, "Don't worry, I won't do it. I made you a promise. The first bullet will be a headshot, and you should be out just like that. I'm sorry."

"You keep saying that," Sasha sighed, half smiling in spite of everything. "You know you don't have to be. It's not your fault."

"And _you_ keep saying _that_ ," he joked, his hand lingering a bit too long at her wrist.

"I..." Bucky trailed off, looking at Sasha's face hard. It felt as though in that one moment, they were able to share so much, just like the way they used to be able to. Then, without even the smallest of hesitations, he pushed forward and pressed his lips to hers. Sasha found that even through all the pain she was in, his kiss was still enough to make her chest feel light and her heart pound.

He pulled away by only just a centimeter, looking for all the world like his very soul had been cracked open. Looking, for the very first time in a long time, like himself. Her Bucky. This was _her_ Bucky.

"Soldier!" Dominika yelled. Her voice was barely recognizable; all Sasha cared about at the moment was that Bucky had kissed her, and looked as though he were about to cry. Had they just made a break through? "You are _completely_ out of line! Step back and raise your gun right now, or so help me god, I will have Autumn execute the _both_ of you!"

"You were on your way to work," he mumbled, paying no attention to the threats raging behind him.

"What?" Sasha inquired. Try as she might, she didn't doubt for one second that Dominika would have Autumn take care of the both of them. They didn't have much time, and the fact that Bucky was making her breath hitch didn't alter that at all.

"You kissed me goodbye, said you needed to go to work. I had a bad feeling that morning, but I couldn't tell you to stay." A revelation was plain as day on his face. "And... and then you were kidnapped, and they took you from me, and I thought you were dead."

"Bucky?" Sasha breathed out, tears of joy and sadness coming to her eyes. "Do you... do you remember?"

"They told me you were pregnant, so I-"

" _Winter. Soldier._ " Dominika spat from her mouth, making a show of angrily rising from her chair, though Sasha was the only one who could see it, and even then just barely from around Bucky's frame. "You are trying my _patience_. Your instructions are to execute Miss Pierce, _not_ indulge her in some sort of last request. I expect you to _follow_ your commands, do you understand me?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Bucky forced out. The tone of a machine was there, but the look on his face, something which only Sasha had access to, was highly alert. No one could see what she did, no one could see the alertness or the sly look, the one that said 'play along for now, I'll take care of it.' It was a secret they were sharing, one that provoked a cry of happiness Sasha had to fight to keep concealed in her throat.

Months had passed. Only a couple, but they were still months. They had contained crying, pain, vomiting, both on her free time and her time spent with the others in Stark Tower. Often times she wondered whether she'd ever be able to bring Bucky home. If she would ever be happy again. Wanda had been Sasha's first spark of hope in a long time; a promise of magically restored memories was basically as good as Sasha had expected it to get.

Only in her wildest dreams had she ever imagined that she might be able to restore Bucky's memories herself, without assistance or anything akin to it.

But, she'd done it. She really had. Sasha had fought for so long, done her damnedest to bring the love of her life home, and now she was doing just that. The first step was simply getting him to remember. The second step was actually getting home.

Bucky took a few steps backwards, deliberately keeping his back to the agents observing the two of them. He went slowly, probably on purpose, to steel himself for whatever it was he was about to do. Sasha would have protested if she could have, but there wasn't much she could do fastened to a wall meant to be her site of execution.

For a split second, she thought she saw him wink. After another moment, Sasha knew that was _exactly_ what Bucky had done. It was followed by a sardonic half smirk, one that she felt she the urge to kiss off his face. Damn; if only they weren't in such a dire situation.

Dominika's voice, ice cold, said, "On my mark." She barely waited another three seconds before calling, "Aim; _fire!_ "

Everything happened pretty quickly after that. As soon as he heard the commands, Bucky lifted his gun and made it seem as though he was tensing to shoot Sasha's leg, then, before she was really sure what was happening, he'd managed to spin around and start firing at the agents observing from across the room. The popping of each bullet resounded throughout the area, and Sasha thought it was a wonder her ear drums hadn't burst.

Autumn was the first of them to respond. Her reflexes, lightning quick, led her to gracefully tip backwards on her chair, summer saluting over herself and using the metal of the seat she'd been sitting on as a shield. Sasha was struck almost speechless at how beautiful she was, like some sort of deadly angel in battle. Her hair whipped about her as she moved, the ends flying around her shoulders as she rose, threw a knife which must have been strapped to her body with deadly precision, and made a beeline for the exit. Autumn was out the door before the blade of the knife had the chance to embed itself into the flesh of Bucky's right bicep.

He let out a guttural noise of pain, and rightly so; being stabbed was no fun at all, and that was something Sasha knew firsthand. Where she and Bucky _differed_ , apparently, was where her first reaction was to go into a catatonic fit of pain, _Bucky's_ was to rip the offending object right back out of his wound. She was pretty sure she had read something once that specifically said _not_ to do that, but Bucky had a habit of doing what he pleased in times of high stress.

Once the blade was removed from his arm, he aimed it at the agent whose face she hadn't recognized and let it fly; it buried itself in the man's throat with ease, and he fell to the ground with a thud.

Death used to scare her, how suddenly it could happen eating away at her mind. Now, she tried to desensitized herself, and remembered how numbed she felt when she'd watched Dominika put a bullet through that man back in her apartment; shocked of course, but numb as well. This wasn't anything different, and at this point it was either kill or be killed, so she felt she was adequately justified.

By now Dominika and the one named Rumlow were in high gear, moving and dodging bullets as best they could. And they were fast, too, because Sasha didn't think she'd seen anyone get hit by the spray of bullets spouting from Bucky's gun yet. The room they were in suddenly seemed a lot smaller; there were only so many places they'd be able to hide.

Rumlow's path hadn't gone unnoticed by Sasha, and she watched as he tried to make his way over to her while protecting himself as best he could. Shit. If he got to her, he could bait Bucky with her, and it would be the scene in her apartment all over again. That wasn't going to happen if she had anything to say about it.

"Bucky, Rumlow's open!" she shouted, desperately struggling against her restraints while her boyfriend, who had been mercilessly shooting at the back of a steel desk in order to get at Dominika, turned around and aimed his gun at the man creeping towards her, not hesitating in the slightest as his finger flexed on the trigger. Rumlow retreated from his path to her swiftly, although not quite fast enough to avoid being hit in the shoulder by a stray bullet.

 _Good_ , Sasha thought to herself.

There was a thundering noise outside the door, and all three players of this weird, lethal version of hide and seek stopped simultaneously to look back and see what it was that would be coming into the room. In her mind, Sasha figured there was maybe a ninety nine percent chance that it was a slew of Hydra agents coming to assist in the recapture of the Winter Soldier. If that were the case, she and him would both be dead within five minutes. She hadn't properly gotten to say goodbye to Bucky, but the kiss he had given her would easily have been enough.

And then Sasha heard another noise that caused her to rip her attention away from the thundering outside the door, one that she had never been so happy to hear in her life. A metal clank resounded from the corner to her left, followed by a solid thud. Two seconds later, the person shouted, " _Vive la Vent King, you sick fucks!_ "

There was a reason Clint had been one of her favorite Avengers aside from Steve.

An arrow flew from his bow, only instead of flying towards the enemy agents, they were aimed straight for her wrists, strategically angled so that the head of the arrow severed her bonds. Finally able to bring her arms to her sides, Sasha let herself take only just a moment to revel in the comfort it brought her to move her back away from the cold wall behind her, now printed with her blood. Sasha saw Clint run forward out of the corner of her eye, another arrow ready to aim, and watched as the other Avengers, accompanied by Wanda and a dark haired man she hadn't seen before, stormed the room, definitely on the offensive but still defending themselves from Hydra agents who were beginning to join the fray. Sasha had taken her eyes off of them for only a moment to remove the rest of the bonds from her wrists when she felt a violent gust of wind and a special sort of motion sickness in her tummy.

"Nice bra, Pierce," Pietro's familiar, devil-may-care voice flooded into her ears. It took her a few seconds to realize that they were in a different part of the Hydra compound entirely. She hadn't seen _any_ of their current surroundings on her death march with Bucky. "Black suits you."

Rolling her eyes, she crossed her arms, wincing at how the action caused the lacerations on her back to stretch. "Where did you take us?" Sasha demanded, gazing at him hard. She might've missed Pietro just as much as she had the others, but she did not appreciate being whisked away from the fray at high speed when she very well could have helped. "We have to go _back_."

"Correction," he laughed, stepping backwards slowly, " _I_ have to go back. Leave the fighting to the trained ones, kid. Nobody wants to see you die today."

Sasha was about to remark that Pietro himself apparently had a death wish, but before she could threaten him, he was already gone, nothing but a blur of blue and silver.

It was cute how they thought having Pietro disorient her was going to be enough to keep her from ending everything that had started herself.

Taking a deep breath, Sasha started jogging forward, listening carefully for the sounds of shouts and gunfire so that she might be able to follow them.

\--

The witch was inside his head before he knew what had taken place. One moment he had Hydra agents in sight, shooting them down as he moved towards Dominika, and the next second he found himself in Sasha's apartment, bathed in sunlight and warmth spilling in from the window. It wasn't an unwelcome change of scenery, but he didn't have powers like some of the others. There was no possible way he could have transported the distance without some sort of abnormal assistance.

For a second, Bucky didn't care; this apartment was where he had managed to find himself with the assistance of the girl of his dreams. If there were any place he would rather be than fighting all those agents, it would be in the bedroom to his right with Sasha, where they could talk, laugh, and kiss, amongst _other_ activities they'd taken a liking to. No one could touch them while they were in this apartment together; no one could tell them what to do or who to be. It was one of the only locations of the modern day that he had truly come to know.

"Huh. I assumed you were going to take us back to some place in the forties; that's what your friend's mind did."

Bucky whirled around quickly upon hearing the voice thick with a Russian accent. There he beheld a girl, one who possessed long brown hair and a round face with sad eyes which said they'd seen far too much hardship. She almost looked familiar, but Bucky was beginning to find that commonplace these days. "Who are you?" he asked. Then, after another thought, "What do you mean the forties?"

"I just figured since Steve's happy place was in the forties, yours would be too. My mistake." A tilt of the head, and then she said, "I'm Wanda Maximoff. Alexandrea asked me to help you get back to yourself sometime ago."

"My happy place?" He prompted, sizing Wanda up. It wasn't that he didn't trust Sasha's judgement, but his girlfriend didn't exactly have the best track record when it came to friends. That, and all of her phrasing was starting to confuse him. His head? _He_ had taken them to Sasha's apartment? "I don't understand what's happening."

Wanda shifted her stance to sit on the sofa she was near. "My powers are mental manipulation. I take people into their minds, let them find their happy place. Yours is apparently this apartment."

Somehow, that wasn't surprising to him at all. So many feelings of love and belonging existed in this apartment. That's all he had ever strived for in life, all he'd wanted since he had begun looking to find a girl back in the thirties. If only he'd known that the one he would truly love would have been born in 1995. It would have saved him a lot of searching.

Bucky hesitated a moment, then eased over to sit across from Wanda, on the coffee table. They were inside his mind; that meant all the events in the Hydra facility were happening in real time around them. "I don't feel very manipulated," he commented.

"I only want to speak with you. I need to pull you into your right mind. That's what I promised her I'd do."

"Listen, I'm fine," Bucky pointed out, raising a hand and gesturing to himself. "The Winter Soldier is gone. She..." For a moment he paused, and let himself reflect upon the events that had taken place with a find smile. "She managed that all by herself."

Pride for Sasha swelled in Bucky's chest. He'd known she was strong since they had met; he hadn't had any idea that she was _that_ strong.

Wanda opened her mouth to say something more, possibly of a kind nature given the softness on her face. She never got the chance though, because just as she was about to let the words slip forth from her mouth, there was a loud pop, a searing pain in his chest, and the warm, sunshine lit colors of Sasha's apartment bled away into nothing but white. Bright and sterile white.

It took Bucky a few seconds to realize he was sprawled across the floor, looking up at the ceiling of the execution room.

He thought he heard someone call his name, someone with a voice way too similar to Steve's, but was too distracted by the barrel of the gun now pointed at his face to pay it much mind.

"All of you stay _back_ ," he heard the voice say, the voice of that cold girl he had once trained. He remembered her now, remembered how hopelessly desperate for his praise she had been. Looking back on it, those events were far more sad than he'd imagined. "Or I put a bullet in his brain, and pretty little Miss Pierce never gets to see her knight in shining armor again. _Alive_ , that is."

No. _No_. They had come much too far for their relationship to end this way. She'd taught him to love others, he'd helped her love herself, and they had both fought for the right to love each other in peace. Hell, Sasha had gashes on her _back_ because of him. If anyone deserved what they wanted, it was her, and it just so happened that _he_ was what she wanted. He could never dream about complaining of that, either. He wanted her too.

Unfortunately, the bullet that was smack in the middle of his chest had other things to say about that.

"What's your _obsession_ with him?" Another voice, female. Cold because it wanted to be, not because it was by nature. That would be Natalia. Oh god, the ceiling was going gray. "Haven't you caused him enough pain? And that poor girl? Jesus _Christ_ , Dominika, you weren't like this when we were teenagers!"

"No, I have _not!_ " the blonde shrieked. It almost sounded as though she had actually stamped her foot; Bucky couldn't be sure. The only place he could look was up, and even just thinking about trying to turn his head was too painful. " _I_ decide when they've had enough! _Me!_ And they'll have had enough when she sees him die! You think I _wanted_ it to come to this?"

"Well, _actually_ ," a man's voice muttered sarcastically. Definitely Stark. He sounded far too similar to his father Howard.

"Look, I don't know what your problem is," Steve said from... _somewhere_ in the room. "But if you think for one second that I'm about to let you kill him-"

"Oh, Captain, I don't think. I _know_ you're going to. I don't think I hit his heart, but there are some pretty important organs in the chest. He could have some serious damage in there, and even if I didn't hit anything important, he only has so much time before he bleeds out. I imagine that's about the opposite of what you want, especially when you haven't gotten to reacquaint yourselves properly." Bucky still felt really shitty about that, but there were more important things for him to worry about. Like, how he was going to live long enough to make Dominika's death as painful as all that she'd done to Sasha.

After all, it was only fair.

And then another person spoke, someone Bucky was not familiar with in the slightest. "Not that I don't love a good revenge vendetta, but I do think this one is just a _tad_ dramatic."

"Shut your _mouth_ ," Dominika spat. "You think I don't know who you are? You think I don't know how you invited a whole legion of aliens to this planet because daddy didn't love you best? Who the hell are you to judge me?"

He couldn't keep his eyes open for much longer. They were too heavy, too much, and he kept thinking that he just wanted to smell the scent of Sasha's perfume one last time. That was all he needed, and then he could drift away to oblivion. If only he could... he just wanted to see her. Tell her how special she was, how beautiful. How much she meant to him. He could die a complete life after that; ninety six years on earth would be enough if he could just tell her he loved her once more.

Dominika was becoming unhinged. Bucky could sense there was a gun shot coming, knew there were mere seconds left before it happened. Whether Sasha was there or not, if Dominika lost herself enough, she would pull the trigger. Ironically enough, that was something he had always scolded her for while she was still his pupil; she felt too much. She probably felt the most emotion out of anyone in that room. Now, her emotion would be his death.

There was a general sense of panic within the next few seconds or so. He heard crashing, something hitting a wall, several people moving at once, Steve yelling " _Stop!_ " Bucky braced himself for more pain just as another gunshot was fired off.

But, pain never came to him. There was no hot lead entering his brain, no overwhelming sense of darkness. He was still there, still staring at the white ceiling, but there was, in that moment, a bodily thud. Metal scraped against the floor. There was a cry.

That cry might have been the most beautiful thing he had heard in years, actually. Because while it was full of anguish and sorrow, while there was never a more pain filled sound, it had come from Sasha. _His_ Sasha. That was all that mattered to him.

" _No, no, no, no, no!_ " she gasped. He heard her run into the room from what he assumed was the entrance and fell to her knees at his side. He felt her hands, light as a feather, touch his face, trying to rouse him. "Bucky, you're awake right? Please, God, tell me you're awake, _please_. You're fine, _please_ be fine."

He could turn his head for her. He would suffer anything in the world if it meant making her happy again. Offering her a smile that he was sure turned into a grimace a few moments later, he mumbled, "H-hey... baby doll..." That was all he had managed to get out before having to dissolve into a fit of coughing.

" _Steve!_ " Sasha yelled, turning her head back. Bucky took in her bra, the dried blood that painted strange patterns upon her arms and chest, and the curls of her hair now that they had seen a significant amount of time without product. Her natural hair was so beautiful; there was something enticing about her the way she looked now, like some kind of feral warrior princess. Bucky was surprised he could have thoughts of that nature so close to his own death. "Steve, he's coughing up blood! We need to do something!"

"What's our location?" Bucky heard someone yell out. "I need a location to send to an extraction team!"

"Tell them... say Hell's... Kitchen..." Bucky told Sasha, trying to speak clearly. This whole death thing was seriously putting a damper on his motor skills.

Thankfully, Sasha had understood, and once she related the information to their companions, she turned back to Bucky, leaning close. He could smell her. That was all he had wanted. "You're gonna be fine, you hear me?"

"Shhh," he whispered, shaking his head a little. "Don't worry about me."

He tried to say something, but it must have come out too slurred, as she responded with, "Talk a little slower, Buck. Just... just talk a little slower."

"You... are the most beautiful... thing... I could have ever asked... to touch."

"You're literally on your death bed and you're _flirting_ with me?" Her laugh was humorless and bitter, but it was still a laugh. "Bucky Barnes, you are _ridiculous_."

"But I mean it," he gasped, reaching up to grab her hand. It hurt, but he did it. "It's important... that you know that. Remember that for me."

"Stop talking like you're saying goodbye," she pleaded. The sorrow in her voice broke his heart, and she was so obviously choking back sobs. Nothing hurt anymore, not very much at all. All he could feel was cold and numbness and sadness, but somehow the fact that Sasha would have Steve, would have the half brother she still had no knowledge about. Something told him that would soon change, and it made letting go of his will to live just slightly easier. "You'll be fine, you hear me? It's all gonna be okay. The serum, it gave you... It boosted your healing factor, didn't it?"

"No, just... just stamina, that's all..." A half grin came to his mouth, but it didn't feel like it lasted very long. "Which you would know... _all_ about."

"Is this guy fucking serious?" he heard one of Steve's companions remark under their breath. Their words sounded like they were in a far off tunnel, like they were on the end of a tether Bucky was floating far, far away from.

" _So_ not the time," Sasha breathed. Despite herself, she let her head come closer to his, let herself consume his vision. She was all that he could see; their were no faults he could find in that.

"Stay safe," Bucky mumbled, heaving another cough. This time he could feel the blood spatter on his chin. Oddly enough, this would be the second time in his life he'd resigned himself to death. The first had been his fall from that train. "I need you... to stay safe."

Everything was fading fast. Sasha's edges were beginning to blur, and he could see nothing of the world but blackness behind her. Was that all death was? Dark for all eternity, with nothing else to it? It was going to be a very long forever if that was the case.

He saw her shaking her head, felt her tears falling from her cheeks into his. Had anyone ever felt something so enamoring? "Hey, no," she protested insistently, truly allowing herself to openly sob. "You promised you would never leave me, remember? You _promised_. I am _holding_ you to that promise, you can't... you can't just... God, oh my god, _please_..."

"Alex-a... andrea..." Could he manage to get the words out before his eyes closed and his breath stopped?

"Bucky?" she whispered, fingers twining into his hair.

"I... love..."

His senses failed him after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well friends, we're getting pretty close to the end! We have just a few more chapters to go, and I'm debating a multiple chapter epilogue, but after that, we'll be done! I do, however, have a plotline in mind that may deserve a sequel, so keep on the lookout for that as well. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I'm sorry about the wait, and I do apologize for where I left off. (Except not really on that last one). Let me know what you guys think!


	37. I Think I'll Love You Better Now

" _Damn_ , kid," Clint complained, fingers writhing in Sasha's grip. As far as she was concerned, his pain was his own fault; he'd been the one to offer her his hand in the first place. "Could you squeeze any tighter?"

"I don't like needles," Sasha muttered through grit teeth and closed eyes. Upon reaching the hospital the ER nurses had immediately whisked Bucky away to a surgical room, one where they were no doubt hooking him up to a heart monitor and performing emergency surgery. He'd lost a sickening amount of blood by the time the ambulance had shown up, and last she'd checked, he'd all but stopped breathing just before arriving at the hospital. She'd have gone with him if she could have, but the medical officials had been downright horrified at the deep, barely beginning to dry gashes on her back, and had insisted that multiple stitches and possibly even a blood transfusion would be necessary for her.

When they'd begun urging her in the opposite direction of Bucky, Sasha's first instinct had been to scream and claw at them, her adrenaline still pumping from what had taken place back at the Hydra base, from what she had done to ensure that Bucky had a chance to survive. The nurses had almost sedated her, but Clint had spoken up, saying that it wouldn't be necessary and that he'd calm her on the walk to her room. He'd accomplished just that, and had even offered to stay with her and take her to see Bucky as soon as her injuries were taken care of and once he was conscious again. That had been just enough to console her into quiet compliance, and she tried not to think very much as the doctor came in and pretended not to be horrified at the injuries she had been gifted.

"What, uh... how exactly did you come by these wounds, miss?" the doctor had asked, pure shock laced through his voice.

There had been a few awkward moments where she'd been floundering for an answer until Clint had pulled a badge from a pocket on his uniform - which confused her, because she hadn't realized his super suit came with pockets - and answered, "Classified by government intelligence. How she was injured is need to know."

The doctor seemed like he had wanted to say something, but ultimately gave up and set to work. First it had been cleaning Sasha's wounds which, miraculously, she had barely even felt. Then it had been sewing up the gashes, something she was not at all thrilled about and which had prompted a look on her face conveying so much disgust and discomfort that Clint had offered to let her squeeze his hand. Despite herself, despite that she wasn't much in the mood for amusement, she found it was easy to laugh at his overly exaggerated expression of pain. Leave it to Clint to be able to make her feel good in a time of crisis.

"Oh, please," Clint teased, rolling his eyes as he continued to flex his fingers as best he could while she was still gripping them. "A little needle never hurt anyone."

"Doesn't mean I have to like them," she pointed out, trying to focus on anything but the constant pull at her skin.

Eventually the doctor alerted her that he'd finished, had placed bandages on her back, and that she was free to go. Sasha waited until he had left the room after bidding her and Clint farewell before beginning to peel herself off the hospital bed. It wasn't until her chest had just barley come off the cotton lining that Clint gave a strangled noise of discomfort and whirled around completely.

"What's up?" Sasha asked in confusion, plopping back down onto her stomach.

"Here," Clint pressed, swiftly reaching forward and grabbing a ball of cloth before throwing it over his shoulder at her. Sasha didn't realize it was a jacket until she looked back to see where it had landed on her legs. "I _so_ don't need your boyfriend maiming me because you accidentally flashed me. Maximoff might have a death wish, but that doesn't mean I do."

A flush of red embarrassment crept up her neck, coloring her scarlet. She'd forgotten that her doctor had made her strip the bra off so he could administer the cleaning and the stitches, and had therefor forgotten that she was naked from the waist up. Through her embarrassment, though, there was a touch of curious wonder.

"You brought me a jacket?" she questioned, sitting up and gingerly slipping her arms through the sleeves. Because Clint was much larger than her, the hem of the thing fell at the middle of her thigh and she had to roll the sleeves several times until she could see her hands again. There wasn't any immediately obvious reason why the gesture meant so much to her, but her heart was beginning to swell with the kindness that Clint was showing her.

"When that girl ripped up your shirt I figured you were gonna need something," Clint admitted, turning back around upon hearing Sasha zip the jacket into place. "And anyway, it's really more for my sake than yours. You ready?"

"I think so," she mumbled, linking arms with Clint and breathing deeply. That was the important thing for her to do now; focus on her breathing and shake away the bad thoughts. If she wasn't careful, everything that had happened, more specifically what she'd done... All of it would come flooding back to her.

And she couldn't have that just yet. Succumbing to guilt wasn't something that would make her useful to anyone, least of all herself. So for now, she needed to keep her thoughts at bay. She needed a distraction.

And lord, was she about to receive one.

She and Clint had just linked arms and begun to make for the door to the room when the handle of it twisted and a nurse popped her head in. Sasha barely had time to register her dark hair and smiley face scrubs before the woman spoke.

"Pardon me," the woman began, a sheepish smile displayed on her full lips. There was a certain air about her that Sasha found she liked, that said this woman was there to help. Quite a good feeling to get around a nurse, Sasha supposed. "Miss Pierce? Or, uh, Jamison? The patient file wasn't very clear on which you were going by, sorry."

Despite what her instincts told her, Sasha took a moment and let her eyes flit sideways to Clint. There, she found that he was just as perplexed as she was, but his body language was such that he didn't think there was any immediate threat.

This whole situation was just... weird, though. She'd already seen a nurse before the doctor had come in. Why send in another one?

Turning back to the nurse who was now fully inside the room and in the act of shutting the door, Sasha clutched Clint's arm a little tighter, just for reassurance, before answering, "Um, Pierce, actually. I already saw a nurse though, so..."

"Oh, no, dear, I'm not here for your vitals," she laughed. She was now close enough for Sasha to see that her identification card clearly stated her name was Evelyn Danton. "We ran some samples on your blood, earlier, when it was drawn to verify your type."

"On whose authority?" Clint demanded, stepping ever so slightly closer to Sasha's side. Was that a sketchy thing for hospitals to do, running a blood test without telling the patient it was happening? Sasha hadn't ever payed that sort of thing much mind. Apparently Clint had found something the matter with it, though, and so she was having just the smallest problem calming her nerves.

"Miss Romanov's, I believe. We were told to check for poison?"

Well, that definitely sounded like Natasha. Back when Sasha had first been brought to stay at the tower, Natasha had insisted the same thing. Perhaps it was because she knew Hydra's tactics, having been trained by Bucky himself and all. Still, if they hadn't used poison on their blades before, why would they have all of a sudden decided to for her torture? And especially when they'd simply planned to execute her later on?

"Anyways," Evelyn continued, placing a patient file on the counter and moving to sit on the stool before the computer. Sasha was getting a weird feeling. Not a bad one, exactly, but not a normal one, either. "What we found wasn't poison."

"Well, great," Sasha said, trying to wrap her mind around what exactly was happening. "So I'm fine then? I can go?" Clint's hand on her shoulder wasn't doing much to comfort her anymore, not with this nurse being so oddly cryptic. If she were trying to attack her, Clint could handle that no problem. If the hospital had found something wrong with Sasha's blood, well. That was a different matter entirely.

"You're not sick, dear, don't you worry" Evelyn reassured her with a laugh. "What we found is actually very good news. We'd just like to ask you a few follow up questions on your medical history so we know how best to prepare you."

Sasha met Clint's gaze again, and it didn't say much more than what she was thinking. There was confusion, hesitance, and unsureness, but Evelyn had said that nothing was the matter. That meant it wasn't cancer or some type of rare disease of the blood or anything. Thank god for that, too, because she had not gone through all that Hydra bullshit to be taken down by her own body. Still... none of this was making any sense, and if she wanted to know what the nurse meant, she was going to have to play along.

And so, sitting back down on the hospital bed and waiting for Clint to take his place in the guest chair, Sasha prompted, "Okay. What are your questions?"

"Well, first thing's first. Have you ever, to your knowledge, carried a child prior to this date?"

\--

So, modern drugs. Those were fucking great. Not only was Bucky basically unaware of anything that was going on around him, but his hallucinations were also pretty damn wild. And he'd thought he'd seen some weird stuff while first being experimented on with the super soldier serum, but oh no, this was way more vivid. Hell, this was probably the only time in his life he would know what it felt like to be resting on a bed of stars in the middle of the night sky; he may as well enjoy it.

And the drugs were fun when he was seeing stuff like that and all, but when the visions passed and he became more conscious than he had been previously, he also became more aware. There was pain somewhere south of his neck, although it mostly just felt like a dull burn, and Bucky found more than once it was a little too easy to forget his name. Not something he was willing to settle into; he wouldn't forget his name again for the rest of his life if he could help it.

Okay. From what he could remember, he'd been shot, which made sense with the burning pain below his neckline. Uh... what else could he place? Anger. Not his own, but someone else's, someone who had nothing to gain or lose by shooting him dead. Sasha had shown up at some point, but if he were being honest that felt more like a dream than anything else. He remembered her having been removed from the fray; he couldn't imagine how she might've gotten back quickly enough to put herself in the way of danger again. Steve had been there too, talking his shooter down. He'd felt like shit about that, and was now deciding that if he could get over this drugged state where he wasn't asleep but also wasn't fully conscious, he would make that up to him. It was high time the two of them get reacquainted.

To map it out mentally, just so he could keep track, he went over it a few times. He had come back to himself, after weeks of both internal and external struggle. He'd been about to kill Sasha, which thankfully had never come to pass. If he remembered correctly, Autumn had stabbed him, though only as a means to escape. At this point it was all super hazy.

And, upon his pondering Autumn... there was something there. Something about her, whatever it was, was important. It was difficult to place and he couldn't exactly figure it out with the hazy drug fog clouding his thoughts, but he could think about that later. Autumn was significant, he could feel that much, but trying to figure out what she had to do with anything in his current state wouldn't do much for him except make it feel like every thought he had was another leg of a dizzying path.

Opening his eyes after what could have been years for all he knew, Bucky found that the ceiling was white, the lights were ridiculously fluorescent, and there was a scent in the air that made everything smell like antiseptic.

So, the hospital most likely, which explained the hardcore drugs in his system. Had they been pumping Sasha with this stuff the last time she'd been in? Bucky's metabolism, nervous system, just about everything in his body had been heightened permanently thanks to the super soldier serum injections he'd undergone. With that in mind, his body had barely managed to keep the adverse effects of the medical drugs at bay, and he had still seen weird hallucinations and things that shouldn't have been there the few times he'd broken into consciousness without remaining aware. What on earth had Sasha seen when she had been on her painkillers? He could only imagine.

"I god damn hate hospitals," he mumbled to himself, squeezing his eyes shut and sighing deeply.

Oh, _bad_ idea. Expanding his ribcage too far sent shooting pains through his abdomen, like someone had taken the time to painstakingly shove shards of glass into his torso individually. Hurt so bad that he narrowly avoided crying out in pain, and that was something that he hadn't missed about emotions very much.

"Yeah, I figured," a voice beside him said. "You always used to. Only time you ever set foot in one back in the day was to come and visit my sorry ass."

Bucky's eyes flew open, and it took him only a moment to locate who had spoken. Well, there was someone he hadn't seen in person in quite some time. Excluding the battle at the hydra base, along with the fighting they'd done back in D.C., how many years had it been? Seventy? Seventy five? Sure, he'd spoken with him on the phone, but that had only been for Sasha's wellbeing; Bucky still felt as though dragging him into the situation had been fairly selfish, but there was no sense dwelling on that now. Not anymore.

"Hey, Stevie," Bucky breathed, a small smile playing at his face. God, Steve looked so different from what he had before. Bucky hadn't managed to become accustomed to having to look up at him prior to falling from the train, had always been so used to Steve being shorter. And the muscles were weird. He'd forgotten just how much change his best friend had undergone. "Been a while, yeah?"

"Don't you 'hey Stevie' me, Buck," Steve laughed, rolling his eyes and turning away for a moment. He wasn't in the red, white, and blue getup Bucky had last seen him in, but had apparently changed them out for sweatpants and a hoodie; comfortably casual clothing. If he looked down, Bucky could see the fuzzy blanket around Steve's waist, having been draped around his shoulders and had since fallen. How long had Steve been at his bedside? Had he slept in the room, in such an uncomfortable chair? "Doesn't matter if you butter me up to help you or not, your girlfriend is gonna go postal on your ass as soon as she finds out that you're awake, and that is so not my problem."

Amazingly enough, Bucky found it far too easy to slip back into the witty banter of their long forgotten friendship. "Right, well, if she goes postal on me, I'm going postal on you." Steve raised a questioning eyebrow in response, to which Bucky replied, "You were supposed to keep her away from me, remember? I called you and you said you would keep her out of harm's way. That included me, you try hard piece of work."

"I'm gonna pretend like I didn't hear that. You really shouldn't insult the only other person in the room, Buck, especially when I'm fully capable of twisting the dam in your IV tap and stopping the painkillers from getting into your veins. Take it from me, gunshots don't feel very good."

"Point taken."

"Besides," Steve continued, shaking his head more to himself than anything. Oh, great. Bucky knew that look. "She's a stubborn one. When you sent in that threat telling her to come save her brother, she refused to listen to anyone else's suggestion." Was it Bucky's imagination, or was there admiration in Steve's voice? "Just, she just up and left. No plan, no foresight, nothing. I almost had a heart attack, if you can believe that."

Bucky could believe that, actually. Bucky had fucking _lived_ that.

"That's rich coming from you, punk," Bucky breathed, trying not to laugh too hard. Laughing hurt. It was reassuring to know that he could laugh, but it was still painful. "You know what that is? That's karma coming back to bite you in the ass for all the fucking stress you put me through back in the thirties. How many alley fights did you get into back then? Did you bother keeping track after I got deployed?"

"Oh, shut up," Steve shot back, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. "A back alley fight versus running off to meet up with an assassin where you're the ransom. Which one is more reckless?"

Technically Steve had a point. Bucky knew Sasha was stubborn and maybe a little bit reckless, but he hadn't known to what extent. It really shouldn't have surprised him that his girlfriend was basically an echo of his best friend, not when he'd known that Steve had been one of her childhood heroes. Steve had been telling him that Sasha was planning to go off on him as soon as she saw him, but Bucky had a few things on his mind to say to her himself.

Stupid. She'd been stupid.

Stupid, and reckless, and... very, _very_ brave.

"I hate to do this to you," Bucky sighed, shaking his head. And he did, too, because it seemed no matter what was happening, Steve took second place to him these days. It made Bucky feel awful. This was a man who'd once been his very best friend, the one he'd shared everything with, the one who had cared after his sisters when Bucky hadn't been able. In the back of his mind, he made a promise to strengthen the bonds of their friendship when things were back to some semblance of normal. For now, though... "I really do. But... is she here? Can I see her?"

Steve's face softened, and Bucky found only the kindness which he'd always received from the blond. It almost made him want to cry, in a way; that look meant it wasn't too late. They could have their friendship again, someday in the near future. In fact... it almost felt as though it were still intact. The bonds were there, they just happened to be weaker, was all. If they worked at it, they'd be good as new. Just like Sasha had wanted for him.

"What, you think we could've made her leave?" No, and really, it wasn't surprising that they hadn't managed to talk her into it. "She's here, yeah. Out in the waiting room with Barton and Romanov. Stark too, maybe, if he got back from the coffee run."

"What about the other one?" Bucky questioned, recalling the conversation he'd had with Steve on the phone just before being attacked in the apartment. "Her half brother. Is he here? Has he told her?"

"Not quite yet." Was that exasperation on Steve's face? Had he just taken all of Bucky's personal qualities in his absence? "I keep telling him she'd be happier for it, but he's pretty hesitant. He and Banner are with Calix and Rosella. None of us were really sure how that whole situation with you and Hydra was going to play out, so we sent them to keep her siblings protected. We knew it's what she would have wanted."

"I see."

"Anyways," Steve continued, "Sasha's out there. I'm sure she'd be happy to see you, she hasn't... Well. She's been doing okay, but something just seems to have come over her, and I can't really place it. Maybe you can snap her out of it, maybe it's just her worrying. Either way, I can send her in."

"Please," Bucky requested, sliding his eyes closed. He needed to see her, to feel her, to know she was alive and well. If there was anything he wanted, it was just to be reassured that Sasha was okay. That was all he needed. Once he saw that for himself, he could focus on other things.

Like how stupid she'd been to run back into the fight, wounds bleeding and skin pale as death, simply so she could save him from his fate.

Steve left, and Bucky found himself in the solitude of silence. It wouldn't last long, he knew, and he didn't much want it to. How long had it been? Two months away from her? Two and a half? Three?

One day had been enough to shatter his soul beyond repair. All the rest of them had just been excess damage.

Quiet, so much quiet that he was beginning to drown and which was only broken by the monotonous beeping of the heart monitor he was hooked up to. Did he dare open his eyes to face what was undoubtedly to come? Perhaps he wasn't ready to see Sasha yet, maybe he should have waited.

But at the same time... dear god, he _ached_ for that girl. He would more than likely be willing to drink poison if it tasted like her.

"Bucky?" a small, quiet voice, her voice, so melodic in nature, chimed from the door just before the sound of it closing. Before he could help it, before he could entertain the thought he'd been perhaps too hasty any further, his eyes slid open and he beheld Alexandrea Pierce in all her glory.

To put it plainly, she looked ragged and exhausted. Her hair was a frizzy mess, which meant that she'd showered and left it to dry naturally in the absence of hair product. There had been many days in the apartment, sunny weekends spent in the bedroom where Bucky hadn't been able to help thinking that he much preferred her hair that way. Her eyes, large as ever, were punctuated by the dark circles beneath them, telling him how little sleep she'd been getting. There were oddball scratches on her face here and there, scratches that wouldn't scar but would most likely cause irritation for the next couple of days, and Bucky couldn't see any trace of the bandages he was sure would be there past the large and oversized hoodie she dawned. In polite terms, Sasha looked like the human embodiment of everything she'd gone through over the last two or so months.

There had never been a time when she'd appeared more beautiful.

"Hey, little love," he murmured, unable to help the sting of tears in his eyes. Normally he was so strong, so able to keep the tears away, but when it came to her... when it came to her, nothing else mattered. Not really. "Been a little while."

"You're telling me," she breathed, coming closer, enough that he could catch the scent of her. It was always cinnamon and vanilla, no matter what; that, at least, he could count on. Her hand came down to hover over his cheek, palm just barely grazing his face. Even with the slight contact, his skin already felt alight with fire. "In case you were wondering, I'm still mad at you."

"Believe me, I'm mad at myself too." None of it was necessarily his fault, per se, and it wasn't exactly as though he were blaming himself for all that had happened, but if he'd just been a little more careful in the past, none of it would have come her way. Had he been able to resist the temptation of her, the call of his own selfish desire to make her his own, he'd have been long gone, out of her life for good. In that alternate world where he had managed to do those things and control himself, Sasha might not possess those scars she had on her back, or even the Russian word on her stomach. She'd have found someone much better suited to caring for her the way she deserved to be cared for. "Can I ask what I did to upset you? I'm not sure I know what it is."

Such a tired look from a twenty year old girl. Bucky forgot about how low her age was sometimes, with all of the events which had taken place in her life. Age didn't define what one could experience, he supposed. Her brown eyes gleamed as a cocktail of emotion swirled within them, and Bucky tried listing all the different ones he could place: happiness, anger, bitterness, anxiety, eagerness. And those were just the ones the English language had names for. All he knew was that within this single girl a storm was brewing, a hurricane that could potentially wipe out everything in its path.

"You and I had a conversation once," Sasha began, drawing her hand away from his face. Though he was sadder for it, he made no protest. This wasn't about him. "We were laying together, and talking about a lot of things. And... you told me you would die for me one day, if it came down to it and there was no other way. Said you'd be happy to. I tried to tell you I didn't want that, but you just..." The tears were already forming in her eyes; Bucky could see them, the glossy shimmer making her brown irises stand out. As she shook her head, she seemed to lose her train of thought, though she found it again after mere seconds had passed. "I never asked you to sacrifice yourself for me. And I, I tried to tell you that so many times, but you just weren't having any of it. Do you know what it was like? Sitting there every day, safe in that tower with everyone keeping watch over me, knowing that the only reason you weren't safe and free to think your own thoughts was because I was still alive? Did you even think for one second what it would be like for me? Living without you?"

A sour pang of guilt flooded into his mouth, and Bucky looked away at the floor, then the ceiling; really anything he could find that wasn't Sasha. Because, if he were being honest? No. No, he hadn't given a single thought to what it might be like for Sasha, alone. What he had been thinking of was how he didn't want to live in a world with no Sasha, at least not consciously. At the time, being brainwashed had been a lot more appealing than even entertaining the idea of what it would be like if Sasha was taken from him. In retrospect, that had been a horrendously selfish way of looking at things, because all Bucky had cared about was how it would feel for him to wake in the morning, to experience the absence of one of the few lights in his life. Never, not once, had he stopped to ponder whether losing him would be just as painful for her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. Even then he realized that if he repeated those words a thousand times over for the rest of his life, it still wouldn't have been enough. Not for what he'd done to her, what he'd put her through. "I didn't... When I made the choice to save you over myself, I hadn't realized what they were going to do to me, or what I was going to do to you, for that matter. And it was painful for you, I know that, but in that moment I just kept thinking about... I had hoped you'd be able to move on from me. Not immediately, obviously, but later on, after you'd forgotten... Maybe you could've found somebody that made you happy."

Something shifted in the air, and it was a force that made it practically impossible not to let his eyes fall on her. And dear god, did she look livid. There was a voluntary effort on her part to keep herself in check, he could tell from the way she was biting her lip and wringing her hands, and in the back of his mind he couldn't help but think that perhaps he should have let her continue ranting. Had he done that, the fire in her eyes might have been avoided.

Yeah. He might've just majorly fucked that one up.

"Someone _else?_ " Sasha all but cried, tossing a hand passionately into the air. "That's a god damn _joke_ , right? I mean honestly, Bucky what could you have possibly been thinking? Huh? If you can't imagine a life without me, one where you can be happy and continue living your life, then how could you possibly think that it would be any different for me? What, do you think I love you less than you love me?"

"God no, Sasha, you _know_ I don't think that!" This was where he would need to be careful. She was lashing out, trying to make sense of all that she'd gone through in such a short time period. That meant she would say some pretty hurtful things, not necessarily of her own volition, and that he would need to make an effort not to let it get to him. For her to accuse him of thinking she didn't love him, though, that was almost as bad as her accusing him of not loving her.

"Do I _really?_ " Sasha pressed, knuckles visibly whitening as they fisted in the fabric of her hoodie. In the back of his head, he wondered who had given it to her, and was slightly ashamed that he hadn't been conscious to offer her anything himself. "Because lately it's been feeling like you're doubting what I would do for you, Bucky, and I... I would do anything you needed me to! For fuck's sake, I _shot_ somebody for you! And now she's dead and you're alive because I killed her, and I swear to god I wouldn't change anything for the world and if I had to I would do it again!"

Oh, god, that's what this was about. He'd known upon reentering consciousness that the fact that he was alive had meant that someone had taken care of Dominika, but he'd failed to assume that Sasha's showing up just before he'd blacked out had any correlation. She was breaking inside, then. She was looking for any validation she could find, looking for someone to tell her what she'd done was okay, that it hadn't made her a bad person to place one life over another.

Bucky distinctly remembered the first time he'd killed another human being. It had been during World War II, and he and his platoon had been fending off an offensive attack made by Nazi soldiers. The boy he'd killed couldn't have been more than nineteen years old, and hadn't even known that he was about to meet death. Bucky had been up in a tree, practicing his sharpshooting when the attack had taken place. It had not been difficult to perform a headshot, and the boy had fallen, face first, onto the muddy ground. But taking that boy's life...

Well. Bucky had learned to move on with himself, eventually, but there was something about the first kill a person made. They stuck in the back of the mind, came back to haunt every now and then. Killing got easier as time went on, but the first was always the most horrific to deal with.

Sasha's hand was trembling. It was just close enough for Bucky to take into his own without irritating his chest, so he grasped it and made himself look into her red, tearful eyes. "Sashen'ka," he murmured, wishing for all the world that he could reach up and tuck her hair behind her ear, "there are times in life when you have to make hard calls. Okay? And sometimes one choice doesn't seem very much better than the other one, but in those cases you just have to roll with what you've chosen. You killed Dominika, yes, but you also saved me. The only reason I'm alive right now is because of the decision you made, and I will spend the rest of my life thanking you for that in every way I can. Alright? You've killed someone. I've killed dozens. In this situation, it doesn't reflect on us."

But she kept crying anyway, kept leaning her face into her shoulder to wipe her tears on the hoodie and looking as though she were attempting to hold her middle together with the other arm. Bucky wondered if she would fall apart, how long it would take for her to disassemble completely. He also wondered if he'd be able to pick her up and put her back together again. Perhaps it wouldn't take as long as he thought it might; somewhere down the line, upon his involvement with this one girl, she'd transformed into something not nearly as fragile as what she had once been.

"What can I do, doll?" he whispered, rubbing circles into the back of her hand with his thumb. She didn't deserve to feel this way, to experience mind numbing guilt over Dominika's death. That girl had put Sasha through so much psychological bullshit that Bucky was honestly surprised that Sasha even felt this much sorrow for what she'd done.

"I need you..." In another context, that would have gotten him riled up. Maybe not the best time to dwell on thoughts of those nature. "I need you to tell me I'm not horrible for killing her."

"You aren't," Bucky responded in a heartbeat. "She was ready to have you killed and I promise you that she wouldn't have lost a wink of sleep over it. The fact that you feel guilt proves how much of a good person you are."

"I need you to promise me that you won't ever sacrifice yourself for me ever again. There's always another option." When he was hesitant to comply with that request, she prompted, "Alright, Bucky?"

At first he wanted to protest. Then, he decided that she was allowed to make her own choices when it came to her life, and that it was his job to follow her wishes as best as he could. So he only squeezed her hand tighter and mumbled, "Fine. Anything else?"

Her lip trembled, and within the next two seconds her sons and tears finally broke forth, and Sasha kneeled down and rested her head very gently on his shoulder with surprising control. Bucky let her hand go so that he could rub it up and down her back instead. "I don't ever want you to leave me like that again, you hear me? You scared me so bad... I thought, I thought you were gonna die, I didn't think you were gonna make it, and- and, I- I just couldn't..."

It wasn't hard to crane his neck forward enough to press his lips to hers, really. Sure, it hurt a little bit, but it was worth it. Anything involving Sasha was worth it. "I'm right here, baby. I will always be _right_ here."

And in his heart, maybe even all the way in his soul, he knew he was speaking the truth. There was virtually nothing he would not do for this one girl, the person he could put all his trust and love into. Bucky wasn't sure if soul mates were real, but if they happened to be, then Sasha was as close as he would get to one.

Maybe it was that small revelation that made him do it, or maybe it was all the drugs in his body. It could technically be argued that he wasn't in his right mind. Bucky didn't care though, because Sasha was what he wanted. Was all he wanted, in fact, so he didn't much care what had spurred on his next action. All he knew was that, from the moment he had met her and moving forward, his life had changed for the better.

"Marry me," he pushed out against her lips, bringing his left hand up to cup her cheek. She went still and rigid, and he wasn't sure if it was because of what he'd said or because of the cool sensation of the metal. "Please. I would be the happiest man in existence. You're all I've ever wanted, Sashen'ka, and I can do my best to make you as happy as you make me. So, marry me. Please."

All he could see was the shocked look on her face as she pulled back to stare at him.


	38. Death of a Bachelor

Almost three months.

The doctors had said she'd been carrying a baby for almost three months, and somehow Sasha had managed to remain unaware of that crucial fact for the whole duration. When they'd still been stuck in the Hydra base, when Bucky had whispered that they'd manipulated him into consenting to brainwashing by telling him that she had been with child at the alleged time of her death, obviously she had been more than a little shocked. Not because she'd been under the assumption that they had been right, but because it was a pretty fucked up lie to tell, even for Hydra.

And all that stress, all that vomiting, the nausea and the mood swings... All of it fit together, now that she looked back on it. And her period _had_ been pretty late, but she'd blamed that on stress before being enlightened on the truth. She just hadn't ever thought that... that what Hydra had said about her being pregnant had been true. Either it had been a lucky guess on their part or Dominika had managed to swipe a testable sample from her somehow, but no matter their methods, they'd been right.

_Three fucking months._

Sasha let her eyes roam over her abdomen, standing sideways and peering at herself in the mirror. As had always been, her stomach was flat, well toned and shaped from her years of dancing. Despite this, she kept hearing the words that nurse had shared with her and Clint in the hospital room, the excited and well meaning tone the woman had used.

' _You're just about three months along, dear. Once you hit that mark, you'll start showing pretty quickly after._ '

Averting her eyes from the mirror, Sasha traded out staring at herself for lifting her left hand and staring at the ring on her finger. It was a band of white gold, a fair sized white diamond set into the center of it, surrounded by countless other little diamonds of the same color that encircled the band. Sasha had almost thought that Bucky had spent too much on it, though he certainly had the money for whatever he wanted after the amount that Shield had paid to reimburse him for the trauma he'd gone through. Actually, what she'd been paid had been a fairly similar amount, and Sasha had all but broken down when they'd deposited it into her bank account without another word. It was enough for the rest of her life, enough to pay off college if she wanted to end the scholarship. It was enough to buy the most expensive apartment in Brooklyn, if that was what she felt like doing.

It was enough to start a family.

But if Bucky wasn't ready for that, if he didn't want the baby she was carrying inside her... Well, she'd already lost him once. It wasn't as if she was going to allow for it to happen a second time.

Dropping the hem of her light pink shirt, Sasha ran a hand through her hair before exiting the bathroom and beginning to make her way up to where Bucky had been placed in the tower. It had been two weeks in the hospital for him, recovering from getting shot and the resulting surgery which had followed, and for her it had meant two weeks of sneaking around with Clint, trying to keep the pregnancy as secret as possible. Sasha was pretty sure no one beside the two of them knew, though she was sure Natasha had her suspicions. Thankfully, the redhead had the grace to keep from inquiring after it too much.

"Hey!" she heard Sam's voice call after her, just as she'd gotten the elevator door to open. For such a high tech tower, the elevators sure did take their sweet time. As Sasha turned to look, she found that Sam was quickly walking towards her, panting slightly as he came to a halt beside her. "You going up to see him?" Somehow it felt as though he wasn't really asking, as much as stating her actions.

"Yeah. He and I, we have some things to talk about." And when she realized how stupidly ominous that sounded, she forced herself to giggle and lift her left hand, pointing at the diamond Sam would find there. "Wedding plans, and all, I mean. What's up?"

"Alright, well, I kind of need to tell you something. Shouldn't take long to do, but you might have some questions, so I mean... Only if it's cool with you."

Honestly? It was totally cool with her. Sasha was about to go upstairs and confess to a pregnancy that she wasn't even sure her fiancé would be happier for. She would do _anything_ to put that off. "Of course, Sam. What's up?"

Sam hesitated, then let his eyes drift around them. Surveying. Checking for something. "Maybe we should talk in your room," he let out, bringing a hand up to nervously scratch at the back of his neck. "I think you're gonna wanna sit down for this one. Don't know if you'll believe it."

After finding out she was pregnant? She could believe just about anything.

Sasha let Sam lead her back to her room, closing the door behind her as she took in the view offered her by the large picture windows set into the far wall. In a couple of weeks, when Bucky was feeling better and more easily able to move around, he'd come down to join her in this room. The one he occupied currently wasn't nearly so welcoming; not that it wasn't nice, but there was something about being able to overlook the busy streets of Manhattan that caused this one to feel warmer, somehow. It still wasn't clear how long the two of them were meant to stay at Stark Tower, but nobody seemed to be in any rush to have the two of them gone. Even the twins and Thor's brother were still residing, waiting to see if Hydra resurfaced in case they were needed for anything else. And, if Sasha were being honest, she wasn't sure if she wanted to go back to her apartment just yet. Death had happened there, a death she had witnessed, and it held too many memories of a friendship that, in the end, hadn't even turned out to be real.

Moving to sit on the bed in the center of the space, Sasha waited for Sam to join her. Why was he being so hesitant?

"Alright," he sighed, looking at her for a few seconds. There was something in his gaze, as though he were searching for something specific. "I don't really know how to do this, um. It's not exactly something I've ever done before, and I only just found out about it a few months ago, so please don't hate me for not telling you sooner. I just, I really wasn't sure how you would respond to this."

Alright, well that sounded really cryptic.

For some reason, in the back of her head, Sasha found that she was worried that Sam knew about her pregnancy. But that wasn't possible, right? She'd only just found out herself, and the only other person who would know for sure was Clint. Sam didn't know she was pregnant. He _couldn't_.

"Let's hear it," she simply put forth, thinking that she could at least feign ignorance if he said what she thought he was about to.

"Okay. Well... I was tracking you, back when we first met. Steve and I were trying to find Bucky to bring him home, and when we found out that he spent so much time with you... we figured you couldn't possibly be a dead end. But then I started thinking, started to wonder about who you were and what kind of interest he had in you, mostly because I didn't think you could be ordinary if you had the Winter Soldier wrapped around your finger the way you did. So I started doing some digging, asked Natasha to bring me your U.S. citizen's file, anything the government had on you. And when I looked in it, when I read it... I found your biological parents."

Oh. Was that all he'd wanted to tell her? That was kind of silly to act all ominous about.

"Sam, we know about my birth parents, remember?" she laughed, tilting her head to the side. "We know about my dad. Alexander Pierce."

"Yeah, but that's your father," Sam pointed out. "You still don't know about your mother."

Well, no, she didn't, but at this point she was sure it couldn't get any worse than her father. Really the worst thing that Sam could say was that her mother had also been the leader of a secret new age Nazi organization and had wanted to leave it to her upon her death. Sasha was pretty sure she could only take that news once in her life, and the limit had already been filled. Nothing else along those lines would be needed.

"Okay," Sasha let out, some slight hesitance seeping into her tone. "Why do I feel like you're about to drop some kind of bomb on me?"

"Probably because I kind of am," Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. Taking a moment, he blinked a few times, then dropped his hand and looked up at her. "I had my suspicions, so I read your file. You just seemed... you reminded me of someone, and I couldn't place who it was until I got a copy of your birth certificate. Yes, Pierce was your father, but your mother's name was Darlene Wilson."

Wilson. As in...

Well, damn. The biological family members just kept coming and coming.

"You're my brother?" Sasha mumbled, looking hard at Sam. Shouldn't she have been able to sense that or something? He'd always felt brotherly, of course, but so had Steve and Clint and Pietro. Okay, well, maybe not Pietro. Pietro kind of felt like that weird cousin who made a lot of sexual comments or something, but that wasn't the point. What was the point was that Sam was her brother, or at least half brother, and Sasha was beginning to realize the small want in the back of her mind to know about her birth family was beginning to come true.

Sam gave her a half smile, though it ended up looking more like a grimace. Why was that, though? Had he not wanted the news to be true? Did he not want to be associated with her in the familial sense? If what had happened to the people Sasha was related to was anything to go by, she supposed that made a little sense. She wouldn't want to be her brother either, not with what Calix had been put through; and _he_ had only been collateral damage.

"Yeah," Sam affirmed. Right, well he didn't _sound_ too bothered by the fact. If anything, he was definitely more... sheepish? "I didn't think that could be right at first, but then I remembered... it was when I was a little younger. Five or six, maybe. She'd always leave me with a babysitter to go and see someone, and it wasn't long after that before she was pregnant. I didn't exactly realize what had been going on, so I didn't know why there was suddenly a baby in the house, but you were only around for a couple of weeks before she realized he wasn't going to send anything to take care of you. Mom was single, working to take care of me, and she couldn't afford another baby. Not with how we were at the time. She named you Alexandrea, after him, I'm assuming, and when she couldn't take care of you anymore... she took you to the orphanage. That's about all I know."

Her mother had wanted to keep her. Her mother, _Sam's_ mother, had wanted to keep her and raise her, but hadn't been able to because she couldn't afford to be a single parent with two kids and no child support. And there had been her father, a man well off and wealthy, who hadn't wanted to spare her a dime in the name of his _being_ her father.

For some reason, this promoted a dark line of thought in Sasha's head. She would like to think that she took after her biological mother in this instance. The baby she was carrying around inside her... dear god, she wanted that baby with all her heart. And it wasn't like she didn't now have the funds to be a single mom; on the contrary, she definitely did, and could most likely pay for her own college education as well as her child's and even mortgage a house on top of _that_. But, if this situation turned out anywhere close to how it did for her biological parents... would Bucky want the baby? Would he rescind his offer of marriage if he knew he had a child on the way?

No. God, no, what a _horrible_ thing to think. Bucky _loved_ children; he'd taken care of his own sisters for years, had dropped school and everything just to continue being with them. He wasn't the type to deny a child a father simply because he'd been caught off guard.

Right?

Sasha hoped to god she was right.

"You good?" Sam questioned after a moment, leaning forward a little and reaching a hand out to rest on Sasha's shoulder. "You look like you're about to be sick. Being related to me isn't that horrible, is it?"

Okay, breathing would be a good idea. In and out, just like that.

"Fine," Sasha laughed, shaking her head and looking down at the blue and gray comforter on her bed. Alright, kind of a lie, but did that really matter? "I'm happy we're related, actually. I'm just... I keep thinking, for some reason, about me and him. And I keep wondering if maybe..."

Understanding dawned on Sam's face, and he gently scooted closer to Sasha so that he could catch her gaze again. "You're worried you and Bucky are gonna be like your parents."

"Is that a stupid thing to worry about?" Because, when she thought on it, it felt like it was, but at the same time... At the same time, it wasn't nearly so foolish. "I know he's not my father, not by any means, but I still..."

"But you still worry," Sam finished, smiling a small smile to himself and shaking his head. "I mean, I guess this is a good first piece of brotherly advice to give, right? You guys aren't gonna end up like your parents. I can practically guarantee that. For one, you and him are engaged; this isn't some kind of illicit affair. And anyways, Bucky's a hell of a lot of a better guy than your father, not sorry to tell you. He loves you, and you love him. Besides, you got a little time to go before you have to worry about his response to a child, don't you think?"

That time, Sasha hadn't been able to keep the look of unabashed pain off her face, and before she realized what she was doing, she let slip, "Well, _actually_..."

Damn. She and Clint had kept it secret for two weeks. And honestly, she thought Clint would've been the one to let the pregnancy secret out of the bag. Apparently, he deserved a lot more credit. And maybe an ice cream sandwich as an apology or something.

It took a minute. In fact, it took so much of a minute that Sasha almost thought she'd gotten off scot-free. If she held very still, if she didn't indicate that she'd slipped in _any_ way, Sam definitely wouldn't say anything.

Sasha really hated when life proved her wrong.

Understanding dawned on his face just when she'd thought she had made it. "Oh my god," Sam let out, leaning back a few inches and eyes widening to the size of saucers. "You're not... you aren't _pregnant_ , are you?"

"Surprise?" She'd said it as a question because really, that's how it felt it should have been said. 

"You've been pregnant this whole time?" Wow, Sam got super loud when he was caught off guard. Maybe it was a trait their mother had given to the both of them. "This _whole_ time? And you didn't tell anyone?"

"Not exactly like I knew, Sam," she sighed, pushing her hair back. "Give a girl a break."

"That's why you had been throwing up, isn't it?"

"I would assume so."

They were both quiet for a little while, Sasha waiting for the obvious internal revelations to die down in Sam's mind. Now that she was paying attention, she guessed she looked like him, in some ways. In the shapes of their eyebrows and the curves of their noses. Maybe she'd ask Bucky about it later. 

"Okay," Sam finally got out, blinking a couple of times. "Okay. So, you're pregnant." It didn't happen to be a question.

"Yes."

"And... and you're worried he's not going to want it. Is that it?"

"Right." And that was really the worst outcome she could think of for this baby; its father not wanting to be its father. Bucky wasn't the type to do that, but Sasha was still paranoid by nature.

"Well..." Sam's voice sounded strained, like he still wasn't over the shock of what he'd been told. If she were being honest, neither was she. "All you can do is tell him, right? That's all you can really do. If he isn't given the chance to respond, you'll never know how he will."

"I just hope..." And in her heart, she knew that what she was about to say was an equal fear of hers. "I just really don't want him to call off the engagement because he feels like I'm keeping a secret from him."

"Sasha, can I be honest?" She wasn't sure what else to do, so she simply nodded and tilted her head to the side. "That boy loves you. He put himself through hell to be with you, and to keep you as safe as possible. So I can tell you there's no way in hell he would skip out on the chance to marry you, who is so obviously the girl of his dreams, just because he thought you were keeping something from him for a little while. Because you were _scared_ to tell him, which is understandable. But I promise you that he will love that baby, just as much as he loves you, and your family is going to be so happy that you won't know what to do with yourself."

"I really hope you're right," she sighed, then turned her head to look back at the rays of sun flooding through the window.

\--

"Something's up," Tony remarked, plopping himself down on the sofa in the communal living room. Steve sat beside him, in the act of folding down the corner of a book he had been attempting to read. Clint sat on the love seat, trying to look anything but suspicious for some reason, while Natasha was sprawled across both the cushions and Clint's legs like a cat. The Maximoffs had been there a few moments ago, but apparently Wanda had more _pressing_ matters to attend to, like Thor's brother, and Pietro had trailed after his twin in an attempt to get her to do literally anything but that. If they were lucky, Thor wouldn't allow Loki near anyone; that's what Tony _thought_ should be done, anyway.

"With what?" Steve humored him, setting his book down on the sofa beside him and looking over. That was sort of unexpected. Steve wasn't much for entertaining Tony's paranoid antics, not usually. Most of the time it happened when Steve was looking for amusement.

"Oh, come _on_ , Rogers, you can't tell me you haven't noticed." Out of the corner of his eye, Tony saw that Natasha's interest had been drawn, and Clint was trying entirely too hard not to let his gaze follow. That only backed up Tony's theory. He'd seen how much time Clint and Sasha had been spending together, how uneasy the both of them were when anyone neared. It wasn't clear what was going on there, but no doubt it was important. Tony kind of wished Bruce was in the room to back him up; the two of them had c needed about the peculiarity of the situation enough times. "Sasha's been a little jumpy lately, wouldn't you say?"

"You would be too if you'd had to shoot your ex-best friend to keep your boyfriend from dying," Natasha remarked dryly. Tony let himself look at her, and saw the strands of her flame red hair glimmer in the light of the sunshine pooling in from the picture windows at the back of the room. "I still don't think she's quite over that one. That girl wasn't meant to kill anybody."

"And she's still sort of flustered from the proposal and all," Steve added, rubbing a hand across his eyes to shake out the lethargic rhythm he'd lulled himself into while reading. He'd been a lot more lax, ever since both Bucky and Sasha had been placed into the tower, safely and together. That feeling of strain, the sense of tension and brooding that had been there for the past six months, ever since he'd begun his search for Bucky, had slowly ebbed and faded away. Tony thanked whatever god was listening for that, because Rogers was a lot more fun when he wasn't worrying about shit he couldn't control. "Back in the day Bucky wasn't quite the settling down type, but those two must've really come together. I don't think she was expecting him to ask her; at least, not like that."

"Yeah, well still," Tony pressed. He didn't know why he cared so much, didn't know why he wanted to know what Sasha and Clint were up to do bad. But he just had to _know_. Secrets were things he wanted in on, if only because he was nosy as hell. And he didn't like that Clint was pointedly refusing to participate in this conversation, either. Something was happening, and Tony wanted to get to the bottom of it. "There's something going on."

"Like what?" Natasha inquired. Her tone was disbelieving but she still acted interested. In fact, her interest was great enough that Clint was becoming visibly uncomfortable to anyone who could see his face.

Now was the time. Tony had Steve and Natasha on the same track. And anyways, physically? There was nowhere for Clint to go.

"Barton, you're being really quiet," Tony prompted, crossing his ankles. No need to get anyone too riled up.

Besides; Tony wasn't even sure of what he was accusing Clint of. Definitely not an affair, not in anyone's sick twisted dreams. Clint and Nat had been a weird, deadly power couple for years, and there was _no one_ who was getting in the way of that relationship. And Sasha? She'd just shot someone for Bucky. No one put themselves in the way of that sort of guilt for another person unless they meant something to each other.

As it turned out, Tony had been wrong about Clint having had nowhere to go. As soon as his composure broke - which hadn't taken very much time - Natasha was shoved off his lap and Clint was up and scaling the wall before Tony could say anything else. It took him less than twenty seconds, and all the three of them down on the couches could do was look up and watch in awe as Clint hung by one arm off a rafter, tore the vent grate off the ceiling with the other hand and let it clatter to the floor, and swung his body into the vent where he began frantically and noisily crawling away.

"What the _fuck_ ," Steve whispered under his breath, pure amazement on his face as he stared up at the gaping hole in the ceiling.

"What does he know?" Natasha demanded, eyes piercing into Tony like daggers. "What are you accusing him of?"

"I don't know," Tony breathed, shaking his head and looking up at the vent again. "But I plan on finding out."

\--

"You know, when we're married," Bucky began, fingers twining with Sasha's as he absently pressed a kiss to the top of her head. It was all he could reach, as she'd carefully placed herself so that she was nowhere near the large white bandage on his chest. "We could find a house, if you wanted. I'm sure they'd let us stay here as long as we need, but I mean... I don't know, I kind of like the idea of having something with you."

He felt the tensing of the muscles in her body almost immediately. That was sort of weird, in a way. Back before everything had come crashing down around them, Sasha had only ever tensed like that when she was feeling anxious. Bucky couldn't imagine what might be troubling her these days; they'd practically taken on every problem life had to throw at them, and had gone on to survive it all. What was causing her discomfort?

And then it passed from her, her body softened out, and she looked up at him with happy doe eyes, eyes that said there wasn't a care in the world for her. Bucky might've been fooled if he weren't so perceptive. Feelings of love swarmed through him, strong senses of joy and affection for the girl in front of him, but those emotions did nothing to dull his senses.

"Yeah, we could. Might give us some privacy, and you and I could do... things." The sly smile that played at her lips was enough to clue him in to just what _things_ she was referring to.

Putting his worries on hold for a moment, if only just to tease her, Bucky smirked and leaned to whisper in her ear, "Oh, well I mean, we don't need a house for _those_ things. Actually, if you're feeling up to it, I'm sure no one's going to come up for quite some time." And after he'd finished speaking, he'd punctuated himself with a gentle nip at the soft spot near the back of her ear.

Okay, so manipulation was an interrogation tactic, and it probably made him a really shitty person to use it on the girl he'd recently proposed to, but it wasn't like she was being forthcoming. Besides; he meant every word that came out of his mouth.

Sasha shivered, and Bucky could practically feel the excitement radiating off her, but she still moved away regardless. "Doctor said none of that for at least another week, champ. Can't have you getting all riled up, it's not good for you."

"No offense, but the doctor doesn't know shit," Bucky retorted, letting his head fall back on the pillow. "He refused to take the serum's healing factor into account for anything."

"Bucky, the serum didn't _give_ you a healing factor."

"Well not a crazy helpful one, no, but I do recover faster than a normal person. It's not a superpower or anything. Just... a lot of stamina."

Sasha groaned, and turned on her side to face him. The look on her face said she was twenty seconds away from smacking him upside the head. "Can we just talk about the fact that those were almost some of the last words you said to me? There I am, thinking you're about to die, and your great idea is to make a _sex joke_. In front of our _friends_."

"Would've had a hell of a story to tell people, though, you gotta admit that." He laughed, and the look in Sasha's face said that she didn't find any of this funny, which only made Bucky want to laugh even harder.

"Because I _so_ want to explain to our kid that their father's last words to me had been a joke about how long he could last during sex, that wouldn't raise any questions with the other kids _at all_."

Bucky felt it again. The tensing of her body, the way she had sucked in a breath so fast, the way she seemed to be holding her breath as though she would burst into fragments if she exhaled. Clearly she was hoping against hope that he hadn't caught what she'd just let slip, hadn't heard the magic phrase she so desperately wanted to take back. And yet...

Oh, no, he'd definitely heard it.

 _Our kid_ , she'd said. Not plural as if she were speaking of their hypothetical children. Sasha had said 'kid' in the singular. As if she knew for certain that their would at least be one.

 _Our kid_.

Bucky held still a moment, trying to compose himself on the off chance that he'd merely gotten his hopes up, and waited a few seconds longer before murmuring, "Sashen'ka?" The words were pleading down to their very base of foundation.

"Don't," her mumbled voice spilled forth quickly. Was he imagining the genuine sound of panic that lay hidden beneath her words? "Please, don't."

"Don't what?" If he had to pry, he would. Making Sasha uncomfortable or upset was the very last thing he wanted to do, but this possibility, this subject... It was too big to squander. Perhaps lowering his voice might help, might make her feel less skittish around him. After all, his aim had been to kill her not too long ago. "I don't understand, doll."

There. Nice and soft and inviting, just as she liked best.

Sasha had buried her face in the space between his arm and his chest on his good side. Her voice was muffled, and it was only because she was so close to him that he could even begin to u first and her words. "Don't get mad at me."

And what the _fuck_ would he be mad at her for?

"What do I have to be mad about?" He might've been a little more than confused, but it was imperative he keep his voice light and controlled. He felt no anger towards Sasha; only bafflement that she would even think he would be angry at news like this. "I... you're pregnant. That's _wonderful_ news, don't you think?"

Sasha gingerly lifted her head from where she had burrowed it into, and fixed Bucky with a look of hesitance and curiosity. Why, though? Had he really given her the impression that he wouldn't want to welcome a child of his own into the world? That was something he used to dream about, when he was a little younger. "It is?"

"I... why wouldn't it be? Sasha, please, what's wrong? Do you not think... you don't think I'd be a good father to it?"

"No, god no, of course I don't think that."

"You don't want to have a child with me?"

"No, Bucky, I didn't... I didn't _say_ that, Jesus. Why would you think that?" Her tone had intensified, had become something defensive and snappy. Bucky knew better than to let it get at him, to let his patience wear thin with her, and yet he couldn't seem to help it as much as he had been before.

"Well, I mean, _Christ_ , Sasha, you aren't exactly giving me a whole lot to go on!" Sasha sat up, jaw set in that defensive way of hers, but he couldn't pay attention to that. If he wanted an explanation for her behavior, he was going to have to dig it up. "If it's not me, then what? Why would I get mad at you for being pregnant? Why would you think that for even a second?"

"Because," she shot back, eyes aflame and arms crossing. They were better than this, Bucky knew, but it seemed like everything had been leading up to this argument, in some way. They'd been nothing but cordial and loving towards one another since he'd woken in the hospital. Of course, that was how they were meant to be, but no relationship was without its problems. In retrospect, Bucky supposed he and Sasha hadn't argued nearly enough with one another considering how long they'd been together. Arguments were healthy, anger was good, and this was all bound to happen at some point. He just hadn't expected for it to be over the fact of her pregnancy, and hadn't thought he'd be pointing fingers and accusing her of thinking he'd be an inadequate father. Perhaps not the best to go on, but it hardly mattered at that point. "You're just now getting your life back for the second time, and the first thing you did when you woke up was propose. Now I have a ring on my finger, and there's one on yours too, and I just... You're tied to me in so many ways, and now there's a fucking baby on the way, and I don't-"

She cut herself off, realizing that her voice had raised at least an octave, and swallowed hard, biting down on her lip before she continued. It was all Bucky could do to wait there patiently while she resettled herself. "Look. I was put up for adoption because my father didn't want to keep me, and my mother had no choice. For years of my life I felt like some kind of other, something no one wanted, and I will not have this child feeling the same way. You're tied to me in a lot of different ways, and I love you Bucky, I do, but I'm scared... I'm scared that one day you're going to wake up and resent me for boxing you into a life you didn't ask for. If that happens, if I have this baby and some day you decide that you don't want me or it, and you leave... I won't do that. Not to this baby. So if you don't want it... we don't have to have it. I want it, I really do, but if you aren't a hundred percent sure, then I can't bring a baby into this world knowing that they've only got a fifty-fifty shot with their father."

How stupidly selfish Bucky had been to think that all of this was about him. As he laid there, taking in Sasha's words and, along with them, the raw pain seeping from every pore of her body, Bucky hated himself for getting even a little defensive about this topic. He had no right, not when she'd been through what she had, when she she had every right to worry over her child's future.

But it wasn't just her child; it was _theirs_. Something the two of them had created together, and he had given Sasha reason to doubt his commitment to her, to their child, to their future. So much so that she had been worried of angering him when he found out, and that wasn't okay with him. Whatever he'd done to make her less than one hundred percent confident in his want for a child, it would need to be remedied.

Bucky reached forward as far as he could without wincing from pain, and tried to grasp Sasha's hand. At first he couldn't quite meet it, as she was too far away, but through her anger she at least allowed herself to take a deep breath, move closer, and place her hand in his. Sometimes he still felt he didn't deserve her kindness.

"I love you," he insisted, looking her straight in the eyes. "I do, and you have to know that. And any child you could possibly give me, any other tie to you that I haven't had to claim yet, I want it. I want all of it, because it's with you, Alexandrea, and I..."

How to express this to her? How to make her feel that he was being truly sincere, that he wanted every little thing with her? Children. Marriage. Anger, but the sort that didn't last, because they loved each other too much to bother with it. Fuck, he'd even take _taxes_ with her.

"You remember, very clearly if I'm not mistaken," Bucky tried, gently pulling her arm so that she would kneel down to his eye level. Not because of superiority of anything like that, just because he wanted to see her. "That I told you I was ready to die for you, right? And you weren't happy with me about that."

"Right," Sasha mumbled, giving a little nod. She was close enough now that Bucky could sense the greater heat of her body, and the warmth of her, both physically and metaphorically, was heartening beyond belief.

"I've changed my mind." Perhaps the little pause after that sentence was just a bit too much, because a general sense of panic flitted across her face, but he corrected it soon enough. "I won't die for you anymore, not if it's not what you want. It's _far_ too easy to die for someone. But... I will _live_ for you, and the rings on our fingers are a symbol of that. Every day of our relationship, until either I'm dead or you say you don't want me, I will live my life for you and our child, and I won't regret a single moment of any of it. You're important to me; _both_ of you. I would never ask you to get rid of a baby, and especially not if it's something you want with me. God knows I want it with you, if you'll have me."

They grew closer, in that moment. Bucky hadn't thought they could grow together anymore than they already had, but he'd been so wrong. This girl was a dream, was everything he'd wanted back before he'd even been drafted for the war. And she understood him, she wanted him, and she loved him, too. He could see a small vision of the future in his head, could see himself coming home to her, hair up and messy from a day of dancing and work, to their child, round faced with chubby cheeks, dark ringlets, and a dopey grin.

Bucky _ached_ for that future.

"Okay," she whispered, blinking a few times and nodding. "Okay. So, we're doing this. We're having a baby. And getting married, and... and..." Unable to complete the thought, Sasha bent her head down to push a kiss to Bucky's lips. It wasn't passionate, wasn't lust inducing or fire starting. It was simply relieved, happy, a gentle sort of whisper of lips and sighs.

"I think, Alexandrea," he mumbled against her, eyelashes fluttering and tangling with hers, "that you and I are going to be very, very happy together."

"I thought Alexandrea didn't suit me," she shot back, smiling into their kiss. She pulled back a moment, cocking her head to the side and fixing him with a playful gaze. "I tell you it's Andrea, you come up with Sasha. I start going by Sasha officially, and you take it all the way back to Alexandrea. What's it going to be?"

Bucky laughed, pulling her down for another kiss. When it ended, he gave an answer, chuckling, "I hardly ever know what's gonna come out while I'm feeling happy. Alexandrea just felt right in that moment. Let's see... Alexandrea Faith Barnes on the marriage certificate, I think. And, as far as every day goes... Sasha really does suit you."

"And you're not just saying that because you picked it out?"

"Absolutely not."

And in that moment, no matter what else came for them, Bucky knew nothing could take away the happiness of the life that awaited him with the girl in front of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything's smooth sailing from here on out, y'all!
> 
> ... Or is it? ;)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter, let me know your thoughts in the comment! Hopefully the next one won't be such a long time coming!


	39. Temporary Fix

"Would you like to know what you're having?"

Sasha's reflexes kicked in as they would if she had been burned, yanking the hem of her shirt down hard and involuntarily letting out a yelp. Having gone into defense mode, she took a step backward, her balance being sacrificed in the process; she'd barely managed to keep herself from toppling over.

Once she had righted herself, Sasha let her eyes meet the owner of the silklike voice that had spoken, and recognized him as the man she hadn't been able to identify in the hydra base fighting alongside all of the rest of them. If she wasn't mistaken, that made him Thor's brother, Loki.

The one that had unleashed all those fucking aliens on New York her senior year of high school.

Choosing to shrug off the embarrassing display she had just made of herself, Sasha stood taller, straightened out her shoulders, and looked up at Loki with as much dignity as she could muster. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that," she chastised him. God, she sounded like a mom already, didn't she?

"Apologies," Loki responded lightly. Something about the amused smirk on his face got on Sasha's nerves, and suddenly Tony's complaining of always wanting to hit him made a lot more sense. "Although I don't think it quite counts as 'sneaking' if the door's been left open."

"Yeah, well." She couldn't think of anything else to say, so she just stood there, crossing her arms over her abdomen and staring in his general direction. Not making eye contact, never that, but close enough.

And they stood there. In silence.

Maybe it was just the pregnancy hormones, but this whole thing was just beginning to feel abhorrently uncomfortable.

Apparently having had enough of the silence, and without the grace to even look a little put off, Loki prompted, "Are you going to answer my question?"

"What question? You didn't say anything."

"I did, actually. Right before you accused me of 'sneaking' if you'll recall. Would you like to know the sex of your child?"

Oh, shit, that was right. He'd caught her staring at her stomach, trying to find any sign of the baby bump that was sure to pop up at any time. Damn; first she'd let it slip to Sam, then Bucky, and now she was being caught with the door open. Clint _definitely_ deserved something special for her doubts.

For now, she needed to deal with the man before her, Loki. And she'd need to do that without snapping too much. Technically speaking, he hadn't done anything to provoke her. Yet. "I'm only three months," she explained, making an extra effort to keep her voice light. "It's too early to tell what it is."

"That's not what I asked." His eyes were sliding along her body, taking in every inch of her. Not in a weird way, not like he was trying to check her out... more like he was trying to read her. To pick up every fact about her that he could without verbal assistance. "Your Midgardian technology is so very obsolete, I find it a wonder that my brother doesn't gift your species with technological knowledge. Aside from that, an ultrasound, as you call it, is not required. My magic will tell me, if you'll allow me contact."

"Bullshit," was all Sasha could think to say.

This time, it was Loki's turn to look at her in silent shock. Would it be petty to admit that she got satisfaction out of that? "Excuse me?"

"Sorry, just..." This was so awkward. This was so fucking awkward. Where was Wanda? Why was Loki not choosing to bother her instead? "That seems a little far fetched, is all. Didn't mean anything by it."

A playful grin made its way onto Loki's face, and Sasha was reminded of that one kid she'd always found copiously obnoxious in the seventh grade. "In my experience, I find that mortal minds in general find many things beyond their grasp."

Sasha rolled her eyes, finding the strength to turn away from Loki and scan herself in the mirror again. It had been three days since she'd confessed her pregnancy to Bucky, and since then she felt... lighter. More free. Almost like there was no longer much for her to worry about, because she had finally found a happy place in her life. "Was there something you wanted? Or did you just come here to make fun of my intelligence level?"

"Like I asked, did you want to-"

"Loki, you might view me as inferior, but you know I'm not stupid. You didn't come to talk about my baby, because you didn't know about it until you saw me staring at my stomach. What do you want?"

He let out a low whistle, chuckling slightly as he stepped into the large bathroom and closed the door behind him. "I enjoy you," he remarked. Sasha barely heard his words; she was still trying to figure out what was happening.

"What... what are you doing?" No way this was happening again. This was _not_ fucking happening again.

Loki seemed to realize after a moment how the situation looked to her. Because of that, he held up his hands in a gesture of placation before backing towards the door again, his back pressed against the wood. "I mean no harm," he tried to explain, "I was asked to check on your wellbeing."

Okay, that was cool. Time to calm down again, everything was fine, no need to be scared. As for someone asking after her, why not just talk to her themselves? And why ask Loki of all people to be their informant?

Narrowing her eyes and making sure the distance between herself and Loki remained cautious, Sasha questioned him further. "Who asked you to do that?"

"My brother."

"Thor? Why would he do that?"

Offering her a shrug, Loki met her gaze and smiled. Was she the only one feeling weird about this situation? Was he not at all uncomfortable? "My brother often feels the need to protect those he views as friends; he seems to care for you. And, aside from that... he believes you and I might find kindred spirits in one another."

She couldn't help it; the chance to say it was dangling right I front of her, and it was too good to let go of it. "Why would he think that? I didn't decide to try committing genocide against the entire human race, that was you."

For a second, Sasha thought she might've gotten herself in trouble. It didn't matter if Loki was in this tower as a peaceful body or not, she had absolutely no doubt that he'd still be willing to teach her a lesson or two. "A funny little girl, you are. I see why they keep you around."

Huh. She hadn't felt this baited and snarked at since her first few encounters with Pietro. That either meant she and Loki could grow to be good friends, or end up hating each other's guts. It honestly just depended on how the rest of this conversation ended up.

"Are you for real? I'm not little."

"You look about seventeen, I'd say you're pretty little."

"I'm _twenty_ , asshat. What are you? Like, twenty five? Thirty?"

All she was given in answer to that question was a knowing look. As though she were idiotic for asking him something like that when she knew that there was age old Norse folklore based around his family. Instead of dwelling there, he instead chose to move away from the door, apparently finding their situation to have grown slightly less tense. "So? Shall I tell you what your child will be, or should I go?"

Pros? She'd know what she was having early on, and could start getting excited almost immediately for her future son or daughter. Cons? Loki would have to touch her, and she didn't know if she was ready for that. Not just because of the off chance that she might have to explain it to anyone else, but also because she had some pretty shit luck with men she didn't know on a personal basis. Still... The chance to know what she was having was enticing, and surely if Loki was Thor's brother he couldn't be too untrustworthy. A little shady, maybe, but given that he was the God of mischief, that was to be expected.

Fuck it. The curiosity was getting the better of her anyway.

"Alright. How do we do it?"

"Lift your shirt, please. I need to touch your stomach." Doing as he said, Sasha lifted her shirt carefully, just enough to expose her stomach. Loki's hand reached forward gingerly, and just before his pale fingers made contact with her skin, he winked and said, "I should warn you, it'll be a bit cold."

Yeah, and he wasn't joking, either. As soon as he touched her, a violent shock of cold ran through her body, wrapping her spine in ice. Every time Sasha read anything about magic, it was always described as warm and tingling, as leaving a happy feeling. Shouldn't that have been how it felt now? Especially if this magic was being used to determine the gender of her child?

Loki leaned closer to her, whispered in her ear. "About your fiancé," he murmured, "cherish him for as long as this existence allows you. Life may do its best to find a way to rip him from your arms. Take it from someone who knows; you will never get over that loss if you allow it to happen. You've been given a second chance; those are so very rare in this universe."

"Trust me," Sasha let out through clamped teeth, grit together against the cold sensation enveloping her body. "I'm never letting him get away from me again."

The two of them were silent a moment, Loki's hand sapping the warmth from Sasha's abdomen. If there was anything else to be said, it wouldn't be horribly far from awkward, and so they elected to remain in silence together.

Wow, this would be really hard to explain if anyone decided to walk in.

Eventually, Loki withdrew his hand, and the warmth which had gone absent suddenly returned to Sasha's body. She found herself wondering how his magic worked, what the nature of it was. Could it tell him things about her other than the sex of the child she was carrying? He didn't suddenly have this extensive knowledge of her life, did he? Maybe she should've thought this whole thing through a little more.

Loki simply looked at her. Knowingly, and in a specific way which kind of made Sasha want to hit him. Perhaps that was simply the norm when it came to Loki. He just happened to possess a very punchable face, was all. Nothing against him. And when he finished looking at her, and she'd found the sense to drop her shirt again, he said, "Cherish that child. Do your best to make sure it knows it has its parents' love."

He backed towards the door after that, and began walking out. Just before he truly began to leave, though, Loki turned back and met Sasha's gaze. "And for your daughter's sake? I hope she takes after her mother."

\--

"Just out of curiosity, are we actually going to talk about anything, or are we all just gonna sit here in super awkward silence while everyone stares at Clint?"

Bucky had to do his best to keep the smirk off his face, and found the solution in hiding it in Sasha's shoulder. Out of sight, out of mind. Except, maybe not, because he could feel Sasha's giggles rolling through her body and the playful nudge Steve administered to his left leg. This whole thing had gotten so out of hand that he just couldn't help it.

"What's so funny?" Tony demanded. Bucky didn't even have to lift his head from where he hid it to know he was staring directly at him. "Come on, Barnes, what's got you laughing? This is serious business! And Sasha, she's _involved!_ "

About an hour ago, Tony had called all the residents of the tower to Bucky's room for a meeting, conscious of the fact that Bucky was still stuck to his bed. Steve had already been with him and Sasha had joined the two of them soon after, a knowing smile upon her face. He hadn't had the chance to ask what had her so happy before Thor's brother filed in, and then Thor himself, along with Natasha, Clint, Bruce, Sam, and the Maximoff twins. Tony was the last arrival, and once everyone got comfortable in the navy blue furniture dominating the room, had immediately brought to light his concerns that Sasha and Clint had been conspiring with one another.

It was worth noting that Tony hadn't even been sure of what he was accusing the two of them of, and had basically only been able to say that they were both acting some form of shady. Now they were here, and Bucky was thoroughly amused beyond belief.

Because, now that Sasha had explained everything to him, Bucky knew exactly what had been going on. Clint had been the first and only one to know about the baby, that was until she'd let it slip to Sam just before letting it slip to him. The archer had been helping to keep the pregnancy a secret, and while Bucky was glad to know of the pregnancy now, he felt gratitude towards Clint, for helping Sasha get through a difficult spot.

"What's funny is the fact that you think you know what's going on," Bucky answered, finding it in him to raise his head and look at Tony. He looked and acted so much like his father that it was almost astounding; all the same mannerisms were there. Along with the slight tendency towards paranoia. "If you knew what was happening, you'd understand."

Clint, from his place across from the bed on the love seat with Natasha, looked relieved not to have Bucky's skepticism pointed his way. Beside him, Natasha was encased in her thoughts, mind clearly racing a mile a minute as she attempted to deduce what was going on. He wondered if she were anywhere close to the revelation that would be coming in a few moments.

The boy twin, Pietro, if Bucky remembered correctly, half heartedly raised a hand. "Maybe you could enlighten the rest of us, so that Stark doesn't feel the need to waste anymore of our time with his conspiracy theories? I was busy, and kind of want to be anywhere but here."

"Oh, hush," Wanda scolded him, "and stop sounding so jealous. You knew she was with him before we got here, I really don't know what you were hoping for."

Sam took one long look at Pietro and almost snorted. " _Hell_ no, not with my sister."

"Because the Soviet assassin is _so_ much better, right?"

Bruce interjected with, "Well, I mean, _technically_ he's not Russian."

Thor made a disgruntled noise of annoyance. "Was there any point to this meeting other than to point fingers?"

Loki, still looking shifty as fuck in Bucky's opinion, tutted at his brother. "Now, now, Thor, we mustn't be so judgmental. After all, you're very good at pointing fingers yourself."

"Because you're always-"

"Wow!" Sasha called, loud enough to be heard over everyone's squabbling. "We got _super_ off topic, didn't we? Like, way off." Bucky could hear Steve laughing from beside him, but ignored it when Sasha peered sideways at him. "Can we make this easy? Can we tell them?"

"Fucking _please_ ," Clint muttered, poorly masked desperation evident in his speech.

Bucky laughed, grabbed her hand, and pressed a kiss to the back of it. "Only if you're sure, okay? No need to let anyone pressure you."

She smiled, and in that smile Bucky could see the whole world. "I think it'll be okay." Raising her eyes to meet the rest of the people in the room, to stare them in the faces as she admitted what she was about to, Bucky couldn't help but notice how grown up she'd become. Gone was the naive twenty year old he'd met what felt like years ago. In her place stood someone who had seen things they probably should not have, graced with the knowing of a soon to be mother. "I'm... Bucky and I are having a baby. Clint knew about it because he was with me in the hospital when I found out, and I made him promise not to tell. He's been helping me keep it secret until I felt like I was ready for everyone to know."

" _What?_ "

Interestingly enough, the serum had not changed Steve's vocal tendency to shoot up about three octaves when he was caught off guard. Bucky thanked whatever higher power was listening for that absolute _gift_.

"We had _sex_ , Steve," Bucky explained, the opportunity presenting itself in a much too tempting manner. "Lots of it. Repeatedly. First couple of times we weren't too smart about it."

Everyone split between two reactions, either laughing way too hard or looking at Bucky with shock and slight disbelief. The same looks he'd gotten making the stamina joke on his supposed death bed.

Worth it.

"Um, I'm sorry, what, uh? What the fuck? Since when?"

Sasha furrowed her eyebrows, looking around Bucky at Steve. "Dude, are you serious?"

The shock couldn't have been because Steve was scandalized about sex; oh, no. Bucky knew damn well Steve was acquainted with sex, and also knew that Bucky wasn't exactly the sort to deny himself something he enjoyed. It had been made clear to almost everyone in this tower a couple months back that Bucky particularly enjoyed Sasha. Neither of them were shy about their relationship, either. So why was Steve acting so...?

"Rogers," Natasha voiced from where she sat, "what are you thinking?" Bucky had forgotten how much Natasha was able to take in, how much she noticed simply by paying attention to her surroundings. For a brief moment, he felt a sense of pride at having been the one to teach her to hone that skill.

"Don't tell me you're a ninety five year old virgin, man," Stark moaned, actually sounding physically pained.

Steve scoffed, a noise Bucky was beginning to associate exclusively with exasperation at Tony. "As _if_. But..." He turned back to Bucky, and in his eyes was genuine concern. "Buck, I've never had kids before."

"Yeah, uh, Stevie? Unless you're trying to tell me you've been sleeping with Sasha - which, remind me to tell you about her tendency to say your name in the middle of sex later - I fail to see how her being pregnant has _anything_ to do with your never having been a father before."

"Because-" Everyone's eyes on them were suddenly extremely noticeable; Bucky wondered if Steve could feel the stares as well. "You've never had one before either. And we're the only two successful super soldiers. We don't know how... Our genes have been altered, Buck. Forcibly. We don't know what a baby would inherit. If it would get super strength, or a healing factor, or maybe something... not so desirable."

Somehow, through all the bullshit and the stress, through all the worrying about whether he and Sasha were okay, Bucky had forgotten that he was even a super soldier at all. Had forgotten that some asshole of a German scientist had experimented on him against his will. For a few seconds of his life, Sasha had managed to make him feel normal again. Bucky loved her dearly for it, truly...

He just hated that every time he felt happiness, some factor that had to do with why he hadn't died back in the forties came back to bite him in the ass.

"If I may?" Thor's brother took a step forward, looking as undisturbed as a man had a right to. Beside him, on the bed, Sasha stiffened slightly. Bucky made a mental note to teach her how to prevent physical cues from giving away when she was nervous or trying to hide something; she wouldn't be able to keep any secrets to herself at the rate she was going. "When I-"

"Loki," Sasha snapped, voice uncharacteristically sharp. " _Don't_."

So, maybe not as bad at keeping secrets as Bucky had assumed. He wasn't sure whether to express pride or nervousness, and nervousness only came because of the secret involved.

"What is this?" Thor demanded of Loki, a large hand swinging forward to latch onto his brother's green thermal clad shoulder. "I thought I told you, _no_ funny business."

"Brother, dear, why is it that any time someone gets angry with me, you assume it's my doing?"

"Can you tell me it's usually not?"

"Point taken."

Sasha, unwilling to wait around for the men to get back to their previous topic, took matters into her own hands. "Bruce." Her voice was full of such a forceful command that Bucky actually almost flinched. "You could test for abnormalities, couldn't you? You're a doctor. Could you tell me if our baby's going to end up with any kind of super.... power? Or whatever we need to look for?"

All eyes turned to Bruce, except for Bucky's. No, his remained with the woman who was soon to be his wife, with the absolute look of terror upon her face. But... her fear was not because she was worried their child might be born with a birth defect or a healing factor. If the two of them could get through all the bullshit they had and still come out on top of it, if a little scathed, then raising a child, no matter how abnormal, would be a cakewalk. No. Sasha's fear stemmed from something else.

Bruce bit his lip, then rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. "I mean, honestly? You'd have to be at least four and a half months along, which I'm assuming you're not because you haven't started showing yet. I can't help you for at least another month or so."

Bucky made a decision, in that moment. Sasha would not be happy with him for it; she might even feel the need to engage in a long, drawn out argument again, perhaps start yelling at him. But this was their future child they were talking about, and if there was something as important to him as remaining in Sasha's good graces, it was ensuring that their future child was presented with the best chance possible.

"You," he shot at Loki, drawing the pale, thin man's green eyes towards him. Bucky was caught off guard; he'd never felt so _analyzed_ before. "What is it? What do you know, and is there any way it will help our child?"

Sasha quickly grabbed Bucky's hand, a certain kind of pleading in her voice. "Bucky, listen to me-"

"Whatever it is," he murmured to her, refusing to tear his gaze from Loki, who was holding eye contact with him in an unspoken challenge to establish himself as the situation's alpha, "I won't be mad. You have _got_ to stop assuming that I'll be mad when I find out you didn't tell me something."

"I was going to tell you," was all she could manage.

"And that's enough for me." Giving his full concentration back to Loki, Bucky prompted him again. "What do you know?"

"I offered your fiancée my magic to determine your child's sex. What I hadn't realized at the time was that, not only would I be able to figure that out, but I could also sense the heart beat and its life force. I can tell you, with certainty, that your daughter thrives within her mother. She will be born strong, and healthy. Just as you... appear to be."

A daughter.

A daughter strong like him.

"I..." Bucky turned to Sasha, clear hope displaying itself on his face and amazement at what he's just been told. "A girl? We're having a girl?"

At his wonder, Sasha's anxieties melted away from her demeanor, and she became the happy, warm girl Bucky so well knew and loved. "Like I said, I was going to tell you."

He didn't care that there were people around. He didn't care that anyone else was learning these very private details, or that Loki ha known Bucky was going to father a daughter before he himself had, he didn't mind that everyone was witnessing this moment. Bucky leaned as far as he could without seriously paining himself and kissed Sasha with all his might.

"A girl," he laughed, sighing against her mouth. "A girl. God, I hope she looks just like you."

"That's what _I_ said," Loki commented.

Their company went into a small frenzy, either congratulating them on the fact that they were soon to be parents or immediately giving off name suggestions. Pietro looked a little bitter, if Bucky were being honest, but his sister did her best to pull him out of it. Clint was cooing about how he was going to have an honorary niece, and, surprisingly, Natasha's emotions of love and excitement were expressed clearly on her face. Tony was talking, in extensive detail, about how he planned to spoil the hell out of the little girl on the way as Thor and Loki imagined what she would look like between both Sasha's and Bucky's genetics. Bruce seemed to be trying to factor in the added strength the serum was apparently going to lend the young girl, and Steve, beside Bucky, was clapping him on the shoulder, telling Sasha their daughter would be just beautiful.

In the middle of forging their own family, Bucky hadn't realized that most of the people in this room had become something of a family to him and Sasha as well.

But, just like every other time in his life, this happy revelation was put to an end by one of shock.

"Mr. Stark," the British, disembodied voice Bucky had come to know as Jarvis called from the speakers set into the ceiling, "I think you'd like to know the tower has a visitor."

"Hostile or non?" Tony questioned.

"Er, a bit undecided, sir. Two girls. They're making their way down the hall to your current location as we speak."

Tony groaned, and everybody in the room tensed. "Jarvis, you have _got_ to stop letting in unauthorized personnel."

"Believe me sir, it was not by choice. One of them overrode my security coding."

Bruce muttered, "So, definitely not harmless, then."

Bucky found himself latching onto Sasha's arm, prepared to shield her with his body if it came to that. But, before anyone could do or say much of anything, the large door to the bedroom was pulled open, and suddenly, the sight of the girls made it just a bit too hard to breathe.

The first was blonde. Physically, she looked maybe sixteen or seventeen at most, and her hair had gone uncut for so long that it reached her waist. The arcs of her cheekbones, the extremely light smattering of freckles across her face, the full bottom lip... All of it Bucky recognized, distantly. He knew her. He knew that if she pulled up the left corner of her mouth, her lips would form a knowing smirk. He knew, as she reached up her hand, that she was doing it to tug at a stray lock of blonde hair. Bucky _knew_ her habits.

Then, behind her, he identified the second girl as Autumn. Only, now he was seeing Autumn in a new light. Not as a fellow Hydra Asset, not as a deadly mercenary, but as someone who looked too similar to the blonde girl beside her. As someone who was not, in reality, actually named Autumn. As someone he had once tucked into bed at night with an 'I love you' and a kiss on the forehead.

"My name is Rosemarie Barnes," she stated, linking arms with the blonde girl in front of her, seeming to draw on her strength, "and this is my sister, Jasmine. We're here to see our brother."


	40. Crawl Home to Her

Bucky sat up higher in the bed, trying his best to ignore the ache radiating out from the center of his chest. It wasn't important right now, not the way that the raven haired girl sitting across from him was. He needed to be sitting up for this, needed to at least have part of his guard up. Not that he doubted that she was who she said, but... still. Redundancy never hurt anyone.

Now that he looked at her, now that he could see her with a clear mind, unclouded by brainwashing and violent threats, Bucky saw what he could not before. He saw the face of the young girl he used to tuck into bed at night. He saw the long, uncut hair he used to weave into braids day after day, occasionally experimenting with a new style. Bucky had held her when she'd cried, when her feelings were hurt, when she swore loudly that she hated him with all her might as little sisters do. And he'd thought that this girl was dead, that she had been for quite some time. What he'd never counted on was that she'd make her way back to him, another of their little sisters in tow.

"I don't understand," Bucky murmured into the silence of the room. Everyone else, including Sasha and Jasmine, had exited upon the request of Rosemarie. He wasn't quite aware of why she'd done this, but now was not the time to try and deduce her reasoning. "I... Rosie, I haven't seen you since you were fourteen. You should be in your eighties, or... in a grave. All three of you were reported dead. How...?"

"James, you and I both know a lot of people don't stay dead when they're supposed to," Rosemarie sighed, resting her chin in her hands. "No matter how hard we try to make it happen, some of them just... keep popping up."

"Do you maybe wanna say that in a way that's a little less cryptic?" He had always loved her, of course, but Rosemarie had a small flair for the dramatics.

A small smile quirked her mouth up, and in her eyes he could see the ghost of the young girl he'd left behind for war. "How old do I look to you?"

He took a moment, scanned her body as far as he could see. Mentally, Bucky was having trouble separating visions of what Rosemarie had looked like at fourteen as opposed to now. But he made himself do it, made himself analyze and assess until he had a satisfactory guess. "Nineteen or twenty, I guess? Almost Sasha's age, but not quite."

"Exactly. And for someone who should be in her _eighties?_ " It wasn't hard to catch the bitterness laced through her voice. That was something Bucky could understand; his lifespan had also been tampered with. "Look. I'm not gonna sugarcoat this for you. As soon as you were confirmed dead in the eyes of the army, they came for us. All three of us. Opened up our heads, took out what they decided we didn't need, and replaced it with whatever benefited them."

"Then _don't_ ," Bucky pushed. Forgetting himself, he reached forward and grabbed at Rosemarie's hand. Her initial reaction was to bristle, and her jaw was set into a hard line before she remembered that he was her brother and meant her no harm. "I need to know exactly what happened to you, what the three of you went through. Jazzy didn't look... like she was the same as you and me."

Rosemarie squeezed Bucky's hand and sighed, and elected to move onto the bed so she could sit next to him. "She's not," she explained. "They never... they didn't take anything from her. She was leverage for me, and you were too. I... Are you sure you want to hear this?"

"I need to, Rosie. It doesn't particularly matter what I want."

Rosemarie took a deep breath, then exhaled. Something was haunting her, it was so plain on her face. Gone was the teenager Bucky had known. In her place was a hardened young woman, one life had done nothing to protect from harm or hardship.

"Okay," she whispered, crossing her arms over her chest. Bucky had to resist the urge to reach an arm around her and embrace her. "They... they came and told us you were dead, that you'd fallen off a train. Not exactly a lie. But they also told us that they were social workers and that we needed to pack our things, because the state was moving us into foster care since our last legal guardian had died. And we believed them, because we were stupid kids. Sophie didn't want to go at first; she said the guys that wanted to take us were scaring her, and that we should run away."

"And?" Bucky prompted. He'd thought he was prepared for this story; now he wasn't so sure. His baby sisters had been kidnapped, and it all had something to do with him. He just didn't know what.

"And I told her you would've wanted us to be taken care of, so we packed, and we left." Rosie's eyes said that her mind was some place far away, in another time entirely. "Anyways, they took us. But, it turned out Sophie was right, because they weren't social workers. They were Hydra agents, and they'd been sent out to bring us to headquarters."

"Why?" If he'd been quiet, Rosemarie was sure to have told him anyway, but that was irrelevant. It was imperative that she knew he was paying attention, that he cared. It was also important that he knew just how much pain he needed to inflict against Hydra to level the playing field.

Rosemarie sighed, and actually leaned her head against Bucky's shoulder. She was showing vulnerability; that meant Hydra hadn't dug their claws into her as severely as he'd been under the impression they had. "They had you at the time. I saw you. You looked... scary, and ready to kill, and like a machine or something. I screamed when I saw you, because I couldn't believe you were alive, and that's when they took the three of us and started telling us where we were, what we were for. Hydra had you; one of the only two successful super soldiers in the world. They weren't sure what it was about you two, but they wanted to recreate it. Stevie's mom was dead by then, meaning that Jazzy, Sophie, and I were the only surviving relatives of a super soldier. Hydra told us that because our genetic makeups were virtually the same... Well. Most people had a sixty percent chance of dying when injected with the serum. We only had a twenty percent."

No. God, no, they hadn't _touched_ his sisters. Not his _sisters_. They'd been little more than babies, and Sophie... Christ, she'd been _twelve_. Jazzy and Rosie had been fourteen and sixteen, which wasn't any better. Had they really been subjected to the tortures he had when Zola had experimented with the serum on him?

"What they were hoping for were three carbon copies of you." Rosie's voice was beginning to strain, and Bucky knew they hadn't even reached the most difficult part of the story yet. "But, you know, that's... not what they got. Only one of us worked out."

"You?" Bucky asked, leaning his head against hers where it rested on his shoulder. "How long were you Autumn for?"

"Oh, James," Rosie whispered, words wavering. Why did she speak like that? Why did he get the feeling that she was about to unleash the unthinkable on him? "I might've been Autumn, but I was _far_ from perfect. And Jazzy, well... she was still Jazzy, after they injected her. No, they... it was Sophie. Sophie was their crowning achievement."

Sophia. They'd taken _Sophia_ and made her into something horrible, taken away her humanity. Bucky thought he might actually throw up, because this news was making him as nauseous as he had ever been in his life. Little Sophie Barnes, who had been delighted by the snow and had kept a girlhood crush on Steve.

They'd turned her into a murderer.

"She was only twelve," Bucky whispered, body suddenly turning ice cold. "They...?"

"Yeah," Rosie answered, "they injected us all, trained the three of us, and when Sophie showed the most results, they wiped her memory and stuck her in cryo freeze for when she became useful. Jazzy, bless her soul, she was hopeless with combat. They _did_ teach her computer skills, though, and they kept her in case they could teach her combat at some other time."

"And you?" Bucky inquired, raising his head and turning it to see her. His little sister was alive; he almost couldn't believe it, no matter how much sense it made. "If Sophie was the most successful, why make you Autumn? Why even keep you at all?"

"Because they like fucking with people?" Okay, fair enough. "God, James, I wish I knew. I'm good at what I do, they made sure of that, but Sophie was better. And they... they wouldn't take my memories away from me, either. They made sure I remembered everything; Jazzy, too. And then they'd show us you and Sophie in your cryo chambers and tell us that if we didn't do what they told us, they'd make us pick one of you to kill. And that we'd have to watch. So I did my best, for your sake, and Sophie's, and Jazzy's. Both of us were in and out of the freeze chambers constantly. And when I saw a couple days ago that you remembered yourself, that Jazzy and I could be free of your deaths on our heads... I snapped. I got Jasmine out and we ran. I just... I couldn't bring Sophie. She wouldn't have remembered us; anyway, I know she's safe. She's too valuable for them to kill out of spite. Right now, she's the only asset they have left."

Bucky wasn't easily riled, but at this point he was damn close to vomiting at the mere thought of what his baby sisters had been put through. There was not much he wanted to remember from his days of Hydra training, but it stuck with him nonetheless. Hydra's sentiment had been that a good soldier had little differences from a stallion; it needed to be broken before it could serve its purpose. Bucky's break had come easily, once he'd been under the impression that everything he had to live for had been snuffed out. But, Rosie had been blackmailed, Jazzy had essentially been called useless, and Sophie had been built into something akin to the Winter Soldier. Miraculously, Jazzy and Rosie had managed to remain in their right minds. But... how damaged was Sophie? How distorted was her image of life these days?

Bucky had thought he was done with Hydra. Now he saw he had only just begun with his entanglement.

Rosemarie cleared her throat, and lifted her head from where she rested it on Bucky's shoulder. "I think that's enough emotional distress for the two of us for now," she sighed, a halfhearted smile on her face. That was something she'd always been good at; changing the subject. "That girl, uh... Alexandrea, right? Are you and her...?"

A smile found its way to his face. Rosie still knew him so well after all these years. "We're good. After you, ah, stabbed me-"

"I _am_ sorry about that."

"It happens," Bucky chuckled, waving it off. "Anyway, a lot of stuff went down, and we weren't too sure how it was gonna go at first, but everything worked out in the end. We're engaged now, actually."

"Yes, I saw the ring on her finger, it was lovely." As an after thought, Rosie glanced down at Bucky's left hand, and when she didn't find what she wanted, she raised it to his attention. "Where's yours?"

Bucky lifted his arm. It almost seemed like some sort of miracle that, through all the events that had passed with time, the metal hadn't tarnished or become dented, scratched, imperfect. No, that would have meant that the good doctor's work had been flawed, something he was sure the small man wouldn't have been able to cope with. Bucky's metal arm remained as immaculate as ever, the shiny metal panels slatted together, somehow worked into his nervous system so that he could sense with it. Try as he might to accept this part of himself, Bucky remained hating it with all of his might.

"This thing's a weapon, Rosie," Bucky explained. He dropped it and brought his right hand up, to display the white gold wedding band around his ring finger. "The metal one's not exactly made for jewelry, y'know?"

"I get that." And then a pause. Bucky could tell something was eating at Rosemarie's mind, but he elected to let it be. In his experience, it was usually better to let someone volunteer information rather than to have to drag it out of them. Which was proven right when Rosemarie continued with, "I, um... You know, when she was in that cell... I tortured her. Not even for information, just because they wanted me to."

Ah. So that's what had been going on in her head.

Before Bucky could get anything out, Rosie pressed on. "And I, I wanted to say something to her, to tell her I was sorry or something, and I tried to make it as painless as possible because I knew you loved her, but if I hadn't done it then they would've taken it out on Jasmine, and I just. I couldn't have that, right? And I saw, I saw the scars on her stomach, and I tried to do her a favor by cutting somewhere where it wouldn't add to scar tissue, but I still _hurt_ her, and-"

"Rosie."

"-and, I mean, I _tried_ to think of some way around it-"

"Rosie."

"-but I just couldn't, and I wasn't about to have them hurt Jazzy, James, she's just not _strong_ enough-"

" _Rosemarie_."

Practically out of nowhere, his tone of voice had switched into older brother mode, which awakened a long lost response in Rosemarie. Her mouth snapped shut and her eyes widened, as if begging him to do anything but believe that she was the one at fault. It was an expression that had gotten her out of trouble many times when she was younger.

"Can I share something with you?" At Rosie's nod, Bucky smiled out of fondness. "Alexandrea is more forgiving than she has any right to be. It's part of why I love her. You could wrong that girl a thousand times over, and she would still manage to find the good in you if you asked her to. Now, if there is one thing she would forgive you for without hesitation? It would be your actions while acting as an asset. Believe me. I've hit her twice now, and amazingly, she still speaks to me."

"But I _wasn't_ acting as an asset," Rosie countered, sounding miserable that she had to do so, "I was acting as _me_. I had a choice, and I chose Jazzy's safety over hers. This wouldn't be so bad if it hadn't been me torturing her, but... I walked by her when I came in here, James. I saw the way she looked at me. There was fear in her eyes, and she couldn't get away from me fast enough."

Alright, well, that was understandable. Sasha most certainly had a right to be frightened, and honestly? If she never forgave Rosemarie for what she had done, that was her right, too. But Bucky _knew_ Sasha, and it was his intimate knowledge of her that let him know that Sasha wouldn't hold this against his little sister. Partly because she wasn't one to hold a grudge, and partly because Sasha knew what it would mean to Bucky to have his lost sisters back in his life.

"Rosie, she was just startled, that's all. She's been through a lot since I met her, and usually the people who hurt her don't come back to apologize. They take the pain they inflicted on her, and they ram it back into her face, make her relive it all over again. So if she was tense, it was simply because a plea for forgiveness wasn't what she was expecting." Bucky let his hand rest on Rosie's knee. "It might take just a little time for her to get comfortable with you, but she'll get there eventually. All she needs is time."

"I'd... like to apologize to her. If I may. I don't want her to feel obligated to forgive me, I want it to be her choice. If she's special to you, then she's special to me, too."

"You sound just like her," Bucky remarked, shaking his head. Oh, the women in his life never seemed to be too far off from one another. "I can ask Jarvis to bring her up here, if you'd like."

Rosemarie debated for a moment, then nodded. "Please."

\--

"Okay, well what about this one?"

"Mmm... Well, I mean, it's pretty and all, but... okay, you want my honest opinion, right?"

"That's all I'm asking for."

"I just think that a dress that style's gonna make you look a _lot_ shorter than you are, you know? If you hide your legs under all that fabric, nobody's gonna think they're as long as they actually are. That dress is gonna dwarf you."

"Ugh, shit, you're right. But, what other kind should I go for? I don't know what I like, and I need to find a dress pronto. I'd like to be married before I'm so pregnant that I look like I'm about to explode out of any dress I wear."

Sasha waited as Bucky's sister, Jasmine, deliberated in front of the computer screen. Her face was thoughtful and her fingers were poised over the laptop's keyboard. At last, an idea struck her mind, and she made an 'aha!' sort of face. "Wait, give me sec," she requested, fingers typing faster than Sasha thought humanly possible. "I think I've got it."

Jasmine may have been unorthodox company to keep, but in the short while Sasha had known her, she'd found the girl to be an ideal person to spend time with. After the two of them had been booted from Bucky's room, Sasha had introduced herself to Jasmine. She'd been shy at first, and even a little hesitant, but had smiled through the introduction. A few minutes in she'd asked Sasha about the engagement ring on her finger, to which Sasha had explained how Bucky had proposed, and everything had gone from there. Sasha had mentioned something about how she was having trouble finding a wedding dress she liked; Jasmine had offered her very unbiased opinion, which had been immediately accepted. Now, the two of them found themselves laying together in front of a laptop, facts about both of their lives easily pouring forth from their mouths. Sasha had admitted her pregnancy to Jasmine, and in response Jasmine had admitted what had happened to her and her sisters.

They'd become fast friends. And it was nice, sort of, because Sasha had forgotten what regular, honest to goodness friendship was like.

Jasmine smiled sweetly at Sasha and turned the laptop towards her so that she might be able to see it better. "What do you think of this one?"

To put it simply, Sasha thought Jasmine was her new favorite person in the entire galaxy. And that _included_ Bucky.

The wedding dress wasn't exactly white. From what Sasha could see, it was closer to a creamy goldish color, shimmering in the light of the picture with layers of lace and golden thread. The bodice was snug against the model's body, highlighting curves which would not have been noticed in a dress of another style, and the whole thing led down her body into a flowing mermaid train of lace and chiffon. It would certainly make one look taller, and perhaps, if she and Bucky married within the next two months, it would serve to hide her baby bump.

Yes, Sasha thought that would do quite nicely.

"You, Jasmine Barnes, know me _way_ too well," she laughed, offering Jasmine a touched look. "How did you...?"

"I used to scrapbook this kind of stuff when I was younger," the blonde girl explained, blowing a couple strands of hair out of her eyes. "Bucky never got it, really, but it comes in handy sometimes. I'd like to think I know what sort of style suits other people."

Sasha chuckled, and nodded her head. Looking at Jasmine in the moment, so comfortable and at ease... Well, it almost echoed the days when Sasha still had her best friend. When she hadn't known anyone named Dominika, but had instead spent much of her time with Nova, talking about dance and boys and future plans.

But Sasha couldn't think like that, not now, and not ever. Nova hadn't ever existed; she'd been a fake identity, a personality Dominika had come up with so she could feed Hydra information on Sasha's life. It hadn't been real, or sincere, or anything close. And, that was where Jazzy's company differed from what Nova's had been. Jazzy was being genuinely friendly, and though they'd just met, Sasha found it was easy to be around her in an open manner. She got the feeling that someday soon she would come to appreciate it.

"You okay?" Jasmine asked, tilting her head in a mirror of one of Bucky's habits. Sasha once again found herself struck with how similar her mannerisms were to her brother's. Rosemarie might have looked more like him with her dark hair, but Jasmine, from what Sasha had so far observed, acted just like him. In retrospect, that could possibly turn out to be more stressful than what Sasha had bargained for, but still.

"Fine," Sasha responded, blinking twice and shaking her head, "just a little out of it, is all. It's been a long couple of weeks and I haven't been near enough relaxed for this baby."

"It's... still so strange to hear you say that," Jasmine admitted, running a hand through her thick hair. "I've only been conscious for part of those seventy years, but it still feels so soon. I didn't think I'd be an aunt. At least, not to my brother's child, anyway."

Sasha quirked an eyebrow. There had been a couple of weird things she'd heard people say in response to learning that she was pregnant, but that was a new remark altogether. "Why would you have thought that?"

A knowing look flashed across Jasmine's face, although it was slightly unsure. Jasmine bit her lip a moment, then expelled a breath Sasha hadn't realized she'd been holding in. "He... I imagine he's told you how reckless Steve was?" At Sasha's nod, Jasmine gave one of her own. "Of course he has, it's one of his favorite topics. What James doesn't tell anyone is that he's the biggest hypocrite in the _world_ and runs around doing the exact same things, but stays quiet about them. He used to... Steve picked back alley fights, James picked defending any girl he saw was in trouble. I mean, chivalry was the norm back then, but he took it above and beyond. Placed himself in situations like that as often as he could. And when that wasn't enough for him, he started tackling bigger problems that involved more guys to fight, like muggers and purse snatchers and stuff."

"Color me surprised," Sasha muttered, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. Figured; Bucky was exactly the type for extreme chivalry. "He saved me from assault, actually. That was how we first met."

"Well, I would hope he was a lot more equipped for it this time around," Jasmine mused. "I'm not sure how much you know about the thirties, but the economy wasn't exactly great. Knives weren't an uncommon thing to carry around in a pocket, and I was constantly expecting James to come home with a knife in his chest. It wouldn't have been out of the ordinary, for what he got up to. So, you know, I just figured he was going to die because he was too stubborn not to play the hero before he got married."

"Well, I mean," Sasha countered, trying to lighten the mood a little bit. She was aware of Bucky having a small tendency towards recklessness, but she hadn't known his sister had been so concerned for him. " _Technically_ he's still not married?"

An expression of mischief crossed Jasmine's face, one Sasha was all too familiar with. Her grin was impish, like her brother's; Sasha was beginning to think she was getting in way over her head with this family. "Mmm, but he sure got you pregnant, now didn't he?"

Yeah. They were going to be very close friends.

Peels of laughter escaped both of them, the hearty, stomach aching kind that drew tears from the eyes and made it hard to breathe. Halfway through, Sasha found herself laughing so hard that her arm slipped out from under her, causing her chin to collide with Jasmine's shoulder. This only served to make the both of them laugh harder, and it wasn't really clear how long it was before the fits ended.

"Miss Pierce?"

Sasha shook her head, trying to rid herself of the excessive giggles escaping her. "Yeah, Jarvis, what's up?"

"Mr. Barnes requests your presence in his room."

"Thanks, buddy, I'll head right up there." She let her eyes wander over to Jasmine, who was still smiling a great deal. "Come with?" she asked, adding a small pleading tone.

Jasmine thought it over a moment, then nodded in the affirmative. "Definitely. You and I can give him hell together. I get the feeling he picked the best girl to make my sister in law."

"You're too nice to me," Sasha insisted, "just wait til you actually have to spend time with me."

"I'll take you over cryo freeze any day."

The two of them stood, linked arms, and made their way up to Bucky's room. Sasha was still amazed at how well she and Jasmine were getting along, hadn't remembered being able to make friends as easily as she just had. Or, perhaps she'd always been able to make friends like that, and it was Dominika's calculated manipulations which led her to thinking she wasn't good at much socially. Perhaps the damage Dominika had done had been much more toxic than Sasha had first thought.

"You've got that look again," Jasmine noted as the elevator opened to the floor Bucky's room was on. The two of them stepped out, arms still linked, but Jasmine planted her feet firmly once they were out, and Sasha was surprised to find that Jasmine had a lot of unnoticed muscle. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Alright, so maybe the resemblance was bugging her a little bit, but she'd get over it after a while, right? A few months around Jasmine and everything would be fine. She wouldn't see the face of the girl she'd once called a best friend, the very same girl she'd had to put a bullet in.

"I..." How to respond? Was she truthful? Or did she conceal her comparisons? No. Secrets hadn't helped her in her life before, ever. The secret of her biological parents had turned out to be, well, pretty devastating. That secret had led to Bucky's further entanglement with Hydra on account of her, which she still felt guilty about, because if she'd been able to hell him who she was, he would have been able to get as far away as possible. And, where Bucky was concerned, his secrets hadn't helped much either, though he'd only been trying to protect her by not telling her he had been the Winter Soldier their first few months of friendship. Yeah. Secrets caused way too much shit for her to keep going on with them. "It's just that, you remind me of someone. Probably someone you wouldn't want to be compared to."

Jasmine narrowed her eyes in thought and pursed her lips. The gears turning in her head were so visible, so obvious a sign of how fast her mind was working. Jasmine had said Hydra's goal had been to turn her into a tech expert. Sasha was pretty convinced that what they'd actually done was make her a certified genius.

"Oh," the blonde let out, blinking slowly as understanding dawned. "You mean _her_." Her tone of voice was not accusatory or malicious, or even offended. No, it was only thoughtful.

"Yeah," Sasha breathed, thankful that Jasmine seemed to understand. "Just, you know, she was... she was my best friend. For years, actually, and when I'm with you, it just reminds me of what she was like before she... before I found out she was only pretending."

And finding out that the entire relationship had been fake had punched a hole in Sasha's heart so deep that she wasn't sure how long it would take to mend. Dominika had lied to her, manipulated her, orchestrated her torture and, later, her execution, had maliciously taunted and terrorized her, and yet, somehow... Sasha still missed her. Still found it in her to mourn for the friendship she'd lost and the girl that she'd killed.

"Well, I'm glad to help you in any way I can. Let me know what I can do for you, whatever it is, and I'll do it." Jasmine unlinked her arm from Sasha's in favor of taking hold of her hand. "For now, I'm sure my brother's missing you, and I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate me holding you up."

"Your brother can fight me," Sasha politely informed her, and led her the rest of the way back to Bucky's room.

Bucky and his other sister, Rosemarie, were in the midst of conversation when Sasha and Jasmine entered. They immediately stopped upon seeing them, and Bucky's gaze found Sasha's and offered her a brief look of happiness before his eyes shifted over to Jazzy, looked away, then shifted back and widened in awe.

"You look just the same," Bucky breathed, reaching his hand out for her subconsciously. "You're... Jazzy, I've _missed_ you."

Jasmine seemed to pause for a moment, almost as though she was waiting for Sasha's approval, and shot her a questioning glance. Sasha grinned and nudged her with her elbow, motioning with her head to go and greet her brother. That was all the girl had needed; as soon as she'd seen the approval, she dropped Sasha's hand and rushed forward, throwing herself into her brother's arms. Bucky groaned in pain but encircled her with his arms anyways, looking fiercely like the protective big brother Sasha knew him to be at heart.

" _James_ ," she cried into his chest, voice muffled by the shirt he wore. "I missed you too, Jamie, I... God, I can't _believe_..."

As Sasha watched the two, fondly gazing upon their reunion, something in the corner of her eyes caught her attention, and she realized she'd forgotten the third Barnes sibling in the room.

Try as she might to keep it from happening, Rosemarie's gaze unsettled her to her very core. Here, right in front of her, was the girl who had forced her onto the ground, screaming and crying and _begging_ for mercy, while she raked a knife over her skin, painting pictures with her blood. Although it might have been on Hydra's orders, Sasha still... she just couldn't. And it wasn't Rosemarie's fault, she knew that, too, and this was Bucky's _sister_. Sasha could forgive her for what she'd done on account of that, couldn't she?

 _Couldn't_ she?

"Um, hi," Rosemarie murmured, stepping towards Sasha to allow Bucky and Jasmine their moment. "I... don't think we got a chance to properly introduce ourselves. I'm Rosemarie. You could call me Rosie? If you wanted?"

She put her hand forward, and all Sasha could do was stare. What she wanted was a handshake, nothing more. That's all it was. This girl had no motive to cause Sasha pain, had no need for it. No one was trying to hurt anybody. This was all innocent.

When Sasha had taken too long staring at the hand offered, Rosemarie dropped it and cleared her throat, then looked up at Sasha through eyes filled with remorse. "I just... look, I know you don't think I'm the best person... and you've got _every_ right to that, I know that, and you should too, but I still... I need to apologize. For what I did to you. It wasn't entirely my doing, but it was still _me_ , and I know it must hurt you to have me here. I'm sorry for what I did to you. I hope you can forgive me, eventually. I'd like to get to know my brother's fiancée."

Despite herself, Sasha looked over Rosemarie's face for any sign of dishonesty. Anything that said she didn't mean what she was saying, that said her apology was insincere. Because something had happened to Sasha over the past few months, something she didn't necessarily like, but at the same time was vital to her own survival. It was no longer in her best interest to blindly trust people, to put all her faith into someone, as what usually happened was generally along the lines of her trust getting thrown back in her face. In the future, it would be important for her to question everyone's motives, for her to make sure she could trust them before she actually did.

A sad skill to have acquired, perhaps, but it would be useful in the long run.

When it came to Rosemarie, though? Nothing. Not an _ounce_ of insincerity, or of deceitfulness. No, Rosemarie was being one hundred percent apologetic, and very much wanted Sasha's forgiveness for having tortured her. The truth was written on her face clear as day; Rosemarie was sorry.

Sasha was pretty sure that no one had ever been sorry before.

Sasha used both of her hands to clasp the one Rosemarie had offered to her, the one she'd dropped. She looked up at Rosemarie's eyes, so afraid that forgiveness wouldn't be granted, and smiled. How many times had Bucky looked just the same way? "It's okay. Don't beat yourself up over it, alright? My father's organization... I think we can both agree they get you into some pretty fucked up stuff. I'm just glad that you made it out okay."

Rosemarie blinked once, then twice, and suddenly a shy smile broke out on her face. And in that moment, Sasha was glad that she'd made this decision, that she'd chosen to allow this girl to drop the guilt weighing down on her head and be free of it. She might not have been a superhero, but it seemed as though she'd just saved Bucky's little sister from her own internal torment. "I... I can't thank you enough for this, I..." She paused, looked back at Bucky and Jazzy, then came back to return Sasha's gaze. "I will do everything I can to make sure you know I'm being sincere."

Now it was Sasha's turn to smile, gently and without care. "Rosie," she said softly, a friendly glint evident in her face. Sasha was a little surprised at herself. Only a few moments ago she'd been afraid of Rosemarie, had been wary of the girl standing before her, who had tortured her in the extremely recent past. But that didn't matter to Sasha, not anymore. There was something about this family, something about Bucky Barnes and his little sisters. Sasha couldn't place what that something was, but it didn't matter. "You're important to your brother. You're important to me, too. You've gone through things no one should ever have to, and... Jazzy explained a lot of what Hydra put on you. How they'd hurt her if you disobeyed. So in a way... as weird as this is going to sound, I'm glad you tortured me. Because if you hadn't, there's no telling what they would have done to you or your sister. My wounds, they're pretty close to healing, but... you and Jasmine have a little ways to go."

That was how Sasha knew she and Rosemarie were going to be okay. On some level, they understood each other. Both of them knew what it was like to sacrifice things, make hard choices to protect those they loved. Rosemarie had tortured Sasha for Jasmine's sake; Sasha had pulled all kinds of crazy shit for not only Bucky, but also her brother, her sister-in-law, and her friends. So, yes, she could forgive Rosemarie for what she'd done, and Sasha would consider herself lucky that she now had the chance to establish a relationship with someone who had gone through things similar to what she had.

"Sasha?"

Bucky's voice cut through the aura of the moment Sasha and Rosemarie were having, and Sasha look over to see him and Jasmine smiling at the two of them. Sasha was sure there wasn't a time Bucky had ever looked so purely blissful. He had his sisters, his fiancée, his unborn child. He was finally in a good place.

Sasha smiled one last time at Rosemarie before gesturing with her chin for the both of them to move closer to the two on the bed. Once they'd stepped forward, Sasha smiled down at Bucky. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," he murmured, grabbing her hand and rubbing his thumb along the back of it. "Pain's fading pretty fast."

Pain.

Fuck.

Eyes immediately finding their ways to the clock on the bedside table, Sasha took in the time of day and made a resigned sound of annoyance. Of course. Bucky was nothing if not stubborn as all hell. "When was the last time you took your pills, you little shit?"

Rosemarie's eyebrows shot up and Jasmine's laughter began filling the area as Bucky's eyes widened, realizing he'd been caught. "Look, I don't need those, alright? I can _barely_ feel it."

"Yeah, because there's _Vicodin_ in your blood stream, idiot," she hissed, rolling her eyes before smacking her palm to her face, "and there's not _going_ to be within the next half an hour if you don't take your pills." And then Sasha realized that she basically had an arsenal at her disposal when it came to pressuring Bucky to do things he didn't want to. Meeting gazes with Rosemarie and Jasmine, Sasha prompted, "He should take his pills, right?"

"Oh, definitely," Jasmine chimed in amid peels of laughter.

"Sasha's right, James," Rosemarie agreed, "drugs are important."

"You're both sell outs," Bucky muttered, rolling his eyes. Yeah, he definitely wasn't in any pain at the moment, but Sasha was sure she could make it happen. And he called _her_ stubborn.

Fixing her fiancé with a look of exasperation, Sasha sat at his side on the bed and leaned close to his face. If there was something she'd learned from Bucky, it was manipulation of the harmless variety, which he'd used in her more than once. Memories of hickeys and kissing came back to her and flushed her cheeks, but she did her best to ignore them. "I need you to take your pills," she murmured, careful not to let their lips touch. Oh, no.

"They dull everything," Bucky shot back, not unaware of Sasha's motive. That was fine; she didn't need him to be in the dark about what she was doing. What she _needed_ was for him to take his damn medicine. Super soldier or not, she wasn't letting him push himself anymore than he had to. "I don't like the way they make me feel."

Behind them, Sasha could hear the Barnes sisters whispering to one another, trying to decide how this situation would play out. They knew Bucky, knew how stubborn and determined he was. But, from what they'd seen of Sasha so far, so was she. Sasha wondered who they were betting on, and made it a note in her head to ask them later.

"Mmm, tough shit," Sasha responded, letting her hand caress Bucky's face as she looked at him through her eyelashes. Beneath her other hand was his chest, and Sash could practically feel his pulse spiking. Usually he wasn't so susceptible to physical advances, but... it had been a while. For _both_ of them. The difference between the two, however, came in the fact that Sasha could wait. Bucky, as of late, had been _wanting_ her, and that was where her advantage came in. "You either take your pills," she mumbled against his mouth, low enough so that only he could hear her. She figured she could at least spare his poor sisters. "Or you're going to be waiting until our wedding night before we _do_ anything again."

Bucky's eyes widened in realization, and she saw his throat bob as he swallowed, though she couldn't decide if it was out of nervousness or something else. "I..." He took in a deep breath, then decided his best course of action would be protest. "That's up to two months away. You wouldn't-"

"Try me," Sasha taunted, smirking to herself. She had him. She knew she did. Pulling away, she chuckled as she leaned over to grab a white capped orange bottle inscribed with Bucky's name off the bedside table. "Your pills, then?"

Sighing as he practically ripped the cap off the bottle, Bucky shook out two white pills, popped them in his mouth, and swallowed. When he was done and Sasha had verified that, yes, he'd actually swallowed them, he looked around her shoulder and made a face at his sisters. "You see what I've been putting up with for the last half a year?"

His sisters laughed, and came to stand beside Sasha and Bucky. Sasha felt a warm feeling in her chest which she couldn't quite place. Pride, or belonging, content, or perhaps even pure happiness... Whatever it was, she never wanted it to go away.

"Somebody's gotta keep you grounded, Jamie," Jasmine told him, eyes fondly appraising Sasha, "it may as well be her."


	41. Hooked on a Feeling

This was to be the happiest day of his life.

He hadn't seen Sasha since early that morning, somewhere close to five o'clock. Bucky had insisted that, because Sasha wanted to keep with the traditional custom of him not seeing her or her dress before the ceremony, he wanted her to at least spend the night before with him. And so, she'd taken a shower in the early evening and bade everyone goodnight for the both of them.

Sasha had come into his room just after he'd pulled on his pajama pants, clad in cotton shorts and a black camisole. As it so happened, Bucky hadn't even had the chance to locate a shirt yet, leaving Sasha to find him bare chested. At the sight of him, she blushed.

"I hate that I'm still not used to this," she muttered, padding into the room and bouncing back onto the bed. Her hair, damp and smelling of lilac shampoo, whipped up and back with her motion, causing little drops of water to flick their way toward him.

"I don't," Bucky chuckled. He turned toward her, standing up straighter and resting his hands on his hips rather than crossing them over his chest. What fun would it be if he didn't give her a hard time about it? "You're cute when you're flustered, you know."

"I'm not flustered," she tried, but Bucky could hear the strain in her voice, could see her inability to look away from him. Oh, she was definitely flustered alright. They'd had nights like this when life was simpler, before everything had been shot to hell and taken away from them. Now that they had each other back, along with so much more... Bucky kind of wanted to get back to where the two of them had been.

And so, giving her a look that said he knew better than to believe a word she said, Bucky walked over to the wall, flipped off the light switches so that the dim bedside lamp was the only source of illumination in the room, and retreated to the bed. At first he wasn't sure how to proceed, but then he decided not to worry too much about anything and scooped Sasha up with one arm. He was met with a small scream of shock and batted against the chest once or twice, but he ignored it as he used his free hand to pull the comforter back from the bed. Once that was accomplished, he dropped Sasha back on the mattress and joined her, immediately laying his head down on the pillow.

"You could've just _asked_ ," Sasha pointed out, sticking her lip forth in a mock pout. Bucky had always thought it cute when she attempted to look more annoyed than she actually was. He wondered if their daughter would inherit the trait from her. "I would've moved myself."

"There's no fun in that," Bucky responded simply. Truthfully, there wasn't. Where would they be if he wasn't allowed to poke fun at her?

She simply rolled her eyes and made to lay her head next to him, laying on her right side so that they were face to face. That was when Bucky realized that, perhaps Sasha wasn't the only one in their relationship who wasn't quite used to one of the other's physical aspects. For Sasha, it was Bucky's build. Though he had extensive scarring, though the area where his arm fused with his chest was completely on display without a shirt, he still found that she fell speechless upon view of the muscles, of the skin and corded veins she saw. For Bucky? As vain as it was...

It didn't matter. He would tell her anyway, because she deserved to know it.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to looking at you," he murmured, lifting his metal hand and brushing his fingertips along her cheek. Sasha shivered, but Bucky wasn't fully under the impression that it had been from the coolness of the metal.

"What do you mean?" Sasha questioned, pulling her brows together in the way she did when she was curious. Oh, how he'd come to memorize her habits.

Why was she curious, though? Did she not understand? Probably not. As ridiculous as it sounded, Bucky was pretty sure that no one, not even Sasha herself, appreciated every little aspect of her as much as he did. God, he could look at her for hours at a time, spend days only looking at one part of her, and it still wouldn't have been anywhere near close enough to what was needed.

Bucky smiled, looked into her eyes, and felt a very familiar warmth spread through his body. If he wasn't careful... Well. They might not make it to their wedding night. "Just.... I mean, _you_. God, I had something in my vows about it, but that's not gonna do it justice. I don't think-" Bucky stopped himself, a quiet laugh escaping his mouth. "You're going to think I'm just flattering you, but... and I say this with absolute honesty, Sashen'ka, believe me... you are the most _beautiful_ woman I have ever seen in my _life_."

She didn't react like he thought she would. Bucky had assumed she'd immediately say that she wasn't, to which he'd have to convince her that yes, she very well in fact was. He'd thought that Sasha would count all her flaws on her fingers, in an attempt to argue with him and try to scrounge up evidence that he wouldn't have found applicable in any way. But, what she did wasn't what he'd expected. Instead of explaining why she wasn't beautiful, how she was far from having the most beauty in the world or even just in the tower, she simply widened her eyes in curiosity as she asked, "Why?"

"Why?" Bucky repeated, just to confirm that he'd heard her correctly.

"Well, I just..." Surely she _had_ to know she was beautiful. _Surely_. "I mean, you've lived a long time. And I know you said you didn't feel emotion or desire as the Winter Soldier, but even you could've recognized beauty, right?"

"I did," Bucky answered, "and I thought you were beautiful then, too." But that wasn't the question she was asking, which meant that she required a different answer. And he'd give it to her, if only to convince her. "This is going to sound like I'm just saying it to say it, so bare with me, but you... are _precious_ to me. And yes, I've seen pretty women and girls over the last ninety years, but I never knew any of them in the way that I know you. Something I've come to realize is that you have to _intimately_ know someone before you can truly recognize how much beauty they possess, and baby doll, you have _all_ of it. I promise. It's in the little things you do, you know? The way you squint your eyes when you laugh really hard, the way you always walk on the balls of your feet, which, I can't figure out if you're just trying to look tall or if it's a habit from dance. Not even just in your habits, you are the most compassionate, willing to forgive woman I've had the chance to come into contact with, and people, _especially_ me, love you for that. So, you're beautiful. Everything about you, everything you do, holds ounce upon ounce of beauty, and I cannot _believe_ that I'm lucky enough to have gotten you to myself."

He'd not noticed the tears in her eyes until he'd finished speaking, hadn't known his words would mean that much to her. He used his metal fingers to brush away her tears, then cupped the apple of her cheek in his palm. Back before they established their romantic relationship, back before he would have admitted feeling anything for Sasha out loud, Bucky would have only let himself think about laying with Sasha and being as open with her as he was in his wildest dreams. It was still so surreal that this was now his every day life, and that he could say things like this to her every day if he so chose. How had he even functioned back before he'd been allowed to touch her? To kiss her? How had he survived having her so close, yet not having all of her? How-

Bucky had been so lost in thought that he hadn't seen Sasha surge toward him, lips crashing hard against his and mouth parting open immediately. Her hands were on him, on his shoulders, then his cheeks, up into his hair. Because he'd been caught off guard she'd actually managed to knock him onto his back, and Sasha was halfway on top of him, pushing and pressing and caressing his lips with her own, with her tongue. Such a vulnerable place he was in with her.

And this was normally the sort of kiss he gave her. Meaning, it was full on, merciless, passionate, and provocative of actions of a similar nature. Any other day, he'd have been gladder for this sort of kiss, would have jumped at the chance to do the sorts of physical things he and Sasha enjoyed with one another.

But... no, he needed to stop this.

"Sashen'ka," he murmured, having trouble speaking on account of her not wanting to break the kiss to let him talk. "Sasha," he tried again, but she was advancing, getting dangerously close to straddling him, and wasn't having any interruptions. "Sa... sha..."

God _damn_ it.

He had to use his hands to pry her mouth from his, and when he did, she looked just about as grumpy about it as he felt. "Not tonight," Bucky murmured, hating himself as the words tumbled forth. Why was he so _insistent_ on torturing himself?

Sasha, for a moment, looked generally more confused than she did angry. Put off, definitely, and Bucky found himself reminded of the night she'd gotten drunk as all hell, when he'd practically had to carry her home. "What do you mean?" she whined, jutting her lip out in a fake pout. "You've been trying to get me to sleep with you again ever since you got out of the hospital. What's the problem?"

Bucky laughed as he toyed with a lock of her hair. There was something about looking _up_ at her that made him giddy, but he needed to ignore that. "Our wedding night's tomorrow, love. I didn't ask you to stay with me tonight just so I could talk you into premarital sex."

Sasha rolled her eyes and got off of him, laying back down and resting her head on his chest. Her skin was like fire where she pressed against him, and he found that he still hasn't one hundred percent calmed down. "Like we haven't done _that_ before," she muttered.

"It's not that I'm trying to respect your virtue or anything," Bucky laughed. He didn't even know why this was so funny to him, and yet he couldn't help but think it hilarious. Sasha had been so timid with her physical actions in the past, it was almost alarming to see her so put off about something like this. "But... I didn't ask you to stay with me tonight because I wanted to sleep with you. We'll have plenty of time for that tomorrow. For tonight, I just wanted to... _hold_ you, I guess. I haven't just held you in, well, _months_. I miss it. I miss you. And in about five months," he murmured, letting his hand ghost down to her stomach, which had just begun to display the small bump representative of the child within her body, "we won't exactly have time to just lay like this."

"Yeah, you know what else we won't have time for in five months?" Bucky was _pretty_ sure he knew, but he let her continue anyway. He liked it when she felt smarter than him, which he was sure happened often, because Sasha was, in fact, smarter than him. Sure, Bucky was fluent in up to nine languages, but Sasha... Sasha was definitely more intelligent. He didn't know how to explain it, but he knew. "Sex. I will have pushed a baby out of my body - which, by the way, could take up to _eighteen fucking hours_. And after I _finish_ pushing our wonderful daughter out of my uterus, I will stay in that hospital for up to four days. Then I'll be home, and I will be breastfeeding our baby and continuing to recover from birthing her and, honestly? It's gonna be a few weeks before I even wanna go _near_ you in that way."

Right, so she'd definitely been researching childbirth facts with Jazzy, then.

"Sasha," Bucky sighed, closing his eyes in slight exasperation. "I'm asking you to wait a day. One. It's... I don't know why, but it's special to me. Just like me not seeing you before the ceremony tomorrow is important to you. So, please? Will you let me have this, just tonight? And then tomorrow..." He smirked, leaned forward to whisper in her ear. "Tomorrow, you tell me _exactly_ what you want me to do to you."

Sasha tensed, lifting her head from his chest to look at him. "Can we at least kiss? You don't wanna have sex, fine, but you've gotta admit, the making out is just as much fun."

Well damn. She had him there.

"It _can_ be," Bucky admitted, biting his lip. She was still giving him that pout, still pleading with her eyes. What was a man to do but give into what his fiancée wanted? "Yes. We can make out. Actually, that sounds _amazing_ right now."

That had all taken place last night. They'd kissed a long while, and she'd gotten slightly more touchy than Bucky thought she would have, but it had all ended up fine. At five in the morning, they'd both been _rudely_ awakened by Jasmine, Rosemarie, and Steve, the only three in the whole of the tower who had been brave enough to rouse Bucky and Sasha from sleep. His sisters had whisked Sasha away to prepare her for the day, not to be seen by Bucky's eyes until around six that evening, which had left Steve to bully Bucky out of bed.

Now, he was trying to figure out his bow tie, making faces at himself in the mirror every time he ended up with a knot of fabric at his throat. Seventy years as a god damn Soviet assassin and nobody had spent the five minutes it would have taken to show him how to correctly execute a bow tie knot.

"You having some issues?"

It was Sam who had spoken, and Bucky saw his head poked through the door, followed in seconds by Steve's just above it. Bucky smiled at the both of them, and gestured with his head for them to enter the small room designated as the groom's area in the church hall.

"Just a little," Bucky admitted, shrugging his shoulders as he let his hands fall from the hopeless loop of fabric at his throat. "Either of you know how to fix this mess?"

"I'm trash with ties, but Sam here," Steve answered, clapping the man on the back, "is _great_ at bows."

"Not to toot my own horn or anything," Sam joked, holding his hands up to gesture towards his own bow tie, "but mine's pretty awesome, if I do say so myself. Let me at you, man."

In fact, if Bucky wasn't mistaken, Sam's bow tie was tied precisely as Steve's was. Which would most likely escape anyone else's notice, as all the groomsmen were dressed in the exact same tux, just as all of Sasha's bridesmaids would be wearing the same dress. But Bucky made it his job to intake detail, and it was most likely that from what he saw, Sam had _also_ had to tie Steve's. Not that Bucky was going to point that out or anything, but it did give him just the smallest little shred of satisfaction.

"You nervous?" Sam questioned, a playful half smirk playing at his mouth as his fingers nimbly undid the knot Bucky had created at his own throat.

"I'm absolutely petrified, actually," Bucky sighed, setting his mouth into a tight line. Normally, his nerves weren't something he was comfortable admitting to out loud, but... Sam made it easy, in a way. Bucky could see why Steve had taken to his friendship so easily, and had also seen something else within him. Before he could think better of saying it, he added, "You remind me of her, you know. You're both very good people."

Sam, looking a bit taken aback by the comment, let his eyes widen as he began retying the powder blue fabric at Bucky's throat. The color hadn't exactly been Bucky's first choice, but he'd left picking the color scheme to Sasha, and so had not allowed himself to complain. Besides; he had to admit that the specific shade made his eyes pop. "My sister?" he questioned, voice rising by an octave or so. Bucky couldn't help the smirk that came to his own mouth. How easily he seemed to be able to rile the members of this specific family.

"Yes. You're very much alike, it's... Well, she's amazing. It makes me happy to see it must run in the family."

From beside the mirror in the room, Steve smacked a hand against the left side of his chest and did his best to internalize his laughter. "Listen, Buck, it's one sibling or the other, and I'd suggest picking the one carrying your child."

To carry on with the joke, Sam made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat and shot a mock glare Steve's way. "Is the man not allowed to _flirt_ , Mr. Rogers? Talk about a patriotic _buzz kill_."

"All I'm saying is that Sasha's gonna be _pissed_ if her baby daddy runs off with her brother."

Bucky's mouth fell open, unable to believe what he'd just heard. "I'm going to pretend like that wasn't a thing that just fell out of your mouth, punk." Despite himself, he still couldn't keep the smile off his face. Bucky had picked Steve as his best man for a reason, after all. "Did you two come in here for a reason other than to make fun of my tie skills and insult me?"

Stepping back after having finished the bow tie, Sam turned to look at Steve, who in turn looked back at Sam. Both of them eyed Bucky, nodded to each other, then seemed to come to an unspoken agreement. Steve smiled softly before answering in the affirmative, saying, "She wants to see you, Buck."

Ridiculously, just like a school boy, hearing any mention of the object of his affection led Bucky's heart to skip several beats. In fact, he was still trying to process that this was his wedding day. He was _marrying_ someone he'd fallen in love with, a girl who'd somehow captured his heart and run so far away with it that he had no hopes at all of getting it back.

Not that he _wanted_ it back. If she somehow found it in her to return his heart to him, Bucky was sure he'd have no idea what on earth to do with it. It would be far too heavy for him; Sasha was much stronger in that way. He wouldn't be able to keep it, he wouldn't be able to give it to anyone else... No. This was the girl for him. _She_ was all he ever wanted. They would become each other's today, and there would be no turning back from it.

Bucky swallowed, careful not to let himself bring his hand up to take through his hair. Natasha, actually, had come in earlier and spent quite a large chunk of time sculpting it with styling wax and hairspray. If he let any harm come to it, there would be no saving Bucky's ears from the extensive screeching she would throw at him.

"What do you mean?" Bucky questioned, glancing between both Steve and Sam. "She didn't want me to see her dress, there's no way."

"Yeah, and you won't," Steve reassured him, splaying his hands in front of his chest as a gesture for Bucky to calm down. "We have it planned out. But, this is your last chance to see her before the ceremony, so if you want to do it, we gotta get going. We're running out of time."

It still sounded a little weird, but Bucky was willing to do anything to see Sasha. Last night he'd been trying to figure out how he could make it all the way to the evening without seeing her, had tried, in his mind, to convince himself that one day really wasn't so horrible. Bucky didn't much care for being separated from Sasha, and though he knew it wasn't permanent this time around, though he knew no one was threatening their relationship, he still found that prolonged absence of her diminished the quality of his mood. He'd need to fix that, most likely in the nearby future, but it would come with time. For now, he needed to jump on the chance to see her.

Shrugging, then adjusting the tie at his throat, Bucky looked between his two groomsmen and smiled lightly. "Best not to keep her waiting, then. Let's go."

\--

"How are you feeling?"

"Would you think I was doubting our marriage if I said pretty terrified?"

"No. I'd say I'm feeling the same way."

"Good to know."

A pause filled with comfortable silence, then a sigh, and another.

"You know I love you, right?"

"So you've said. Many times. I love you too."

Sasha felt the cool metal of Bucky's hand squeeze hers slightly tighter, just as a reassurance, and smiled to herself.

About halfway through getting ready for the ceremony, she'd begun to get anxious, and _not_ in the good way. One second, Rosie and Jasmine had been collectively trying to do up the back of her dress, getting lost in buttons and fabric, and Natasha had been sweeping lipstick across Sasha's parted lips when an icy feeling had entered her stomach. Sasha found that her throat was getting tight, her palms sweaty and hands shaking, and suddenly a dark cloud was looming over her. God, she hadn't had to deal with her anxiety in such a long time that she'd almost forgotten what it felt like when it crept up on her.

When Sasha had explained to both Natasha and Rosemarie that, no, there was no way she'd been poisoned and that the whole thing was literally just her mind being a right bitch, Jasmine had suggested seeing Bucky. If there was anyone who would have been able to calm Sasha, to reassure her, it would be her soon to be husband. That had worried her at first. Though Sasha knew in her heart that Bucky, even just hearing his voice, was exactly what would calm her down, she still didn't want him to see her or her dress. She might not have been the most traditional person, but that was _one_ she didn't want to break.

"You won't have to see him," Natasha reassured her. Looking to Rosemarie, she said, "Could you go and tell Steve to come here? I have an idea."

And that was how Sasha found herself where she was now, leaned against a wall of the church and holding Bucky's hand. Natasha had made sure to find a corner, a be d in the hallway so that Sasha could stay against one side and Bucky against the other. They couldn't see each other, but they _could_ hold hands and speak, which seemed to be all that Sasha needed. As soon as he'd put his hand forward for her to hold, the sick feeling had begun to wane.

"Any better yet?" Bucky questioned, slight concern in his voice. Sasha wanted to tell him that as long as she was with him, everything would be fine, but she didn't quite know how to put that into words.

"No, not yet. I just... maybe just keep talking, please? I like hearing your voice. How's your day been?"

Bucky snorted, and Sasha was sure he was rolling his eyes. Funny that they'd come to know each other so well that she could actually sense the sass on him. "I mean, we woke up early, and you know I'm not a morning person at _all_. Clint made me coffee, so I mean, that was cool and everything, but it only does so much for me. Uh, let's see. Ate breakfast with the guys and all of that; I wasn't hungry at first, but Tony kept insisting, and I figured I oughta take his word on how absolutely shitty not eating would make me feel. Plus, they threatened to tell you, so I couldn't have that. I've basically been locked in the guy room all day, lots of people have been in and out. Nat did my hair; well, actually, she _cut_ it, then did it."

That certainly pulled Sasha out of the cloud of anxiety surrounding her mind. "She cut it? You actually let her do that?"

"Believe me, I put up a fight." Sasha could hear the faint laughter in Bucky's voice. For a moment, she let the pristine white walls of the church fade into the darkness of her eyelids, relishing in the sound of Bucky's pure, unadulterated happiness. That was a sound she'd be privileged enough to hear every day for the rest of her life, and as she let her eyes slide closed, she tried to picture what Bucky might look like with his newly shorn hair. Most definitely Natasha would have kept it just a bit on the longer side; seeing him looking similarly to the way he'd looked in the thirties was something of a pleasure Natasha knew Sasha held. "But she convinced me. Besides; I know you like me with shorter hair anyway."

"Guilty," Sasha admitted, opening her eyes back up and staring at the way the light from the church window hit the flair of her mermaid skirt. Millions of little gold flecks of light were sent scattered over the walls and the tiled floors, causing everything to be temporarily swathed in golden flares. Perhaps she shouldn't have been sitting on the floor in her wedding dress, and she could practically _hear_ the aneurysm her mother would have if she ever found out, but it didn't matter. This was _her_ wedding day; she'd sit on the floor and be kind of touchy all she wanted. "I'm sure you look great, Bucky."

"Not as great as you," he countered, squeezing her hand a little more. Funny how he still managed to put butterflies in her stomach. "God, I'm just picturing you in my head, trying to figure out what you'll look like. There'll be heels, obviously, because you've got something of an inferiority complex when it comes to your height." He wasn't wrong about that. "Your hair's gonna be up, just because it always is." Yes, actually, that was right too. Rosie had arranged Sasha's hair into immaculate curls and, once they'd cooled, Clint had surprisingly been called in to pin her hair up with nimble fingers and golden bejeweled pins. Sasha had made a mental note to ask Clint why he was so good with hair at a later time. "I'm sure your makeup is stunning; everything about you always is. The one thing I can't place is the type of dress you picked."

"Yeah, and it's gonna stay that way for another little while, sorry. I can promise you you'll like it."

"And _I_ can promise _you_ that I'll like it twenty times better on the floor."

Sasha laughed, and would have leaned around the corner to swat Bucky on the chest if she could have gotten away with it without him seeing her. "I tried to talk you into that last night, you didn't want to."

"Yes," Bucky admitted, voice seductive and husky. Six months and this idiot _still_ affected her the way he had from day one. "And now it's the day of our wedding, and as soon as our reception party is over you and I are leaving to a hotel room, and then tomorrow to an airport for our honeymoon. Now, between the end of our reception and our board time for our flight... How many times do you think we can have sex?"

"We're in a _church_ , you dirty little shit!"

"Okay, A, you just swore in the church we're sitting in and B, I'm not the one who tried to pressure the other into premarital sex, _surprisingly_."

At first she tried not to laugh, and then found that it was a futile attempt. Feeling like this was all she wanted out of life, to constantly feel as light and heady as she did now. Bucky, she was sure, would always manage to make her feel like a free spirit, and she felt that was important. Someday down the line, when she was sixty years old - and she could definitely think like that, because she knew now that Bucky was hers forever - she would find herself feeling just as she had when she was twenty and first in love. It was something she could count on, and that in and of itself was beautiful.

And then, in the middle of Sasha's laughter and Bucky's teasing and their daydreaming of the future, both near and far, something happened. Something so beautiful and wholesome and _pure_ that the fact that it had happened just a short while before her wedding day made Sasha think it was so abhorrently cliché, yet at the same time miraculous.

It had taken her by surprise, at first. The sensation was definitely a strange one, and Sasha had often wondered as a young girl what it might feel like when it finally happened to her. It had drawn a gasp from her mouth, more out of shock than anything, and Sasha withdrew her hand from Bucky's to prod at her stomach, a well developing bump proudly displaying the child being carried inside, waiting for it to happen again.

"What is it?" Bucky prompted, tension in his voice. His metal hand struck the floor, making noises which led Sasha to believe that he was considering rounding the corner to make sure she was safe. He didn't, though, and instead opted to reiterate the question. "What's wrong?"

"I..." Nothing. Everything was _amazing_ , one hundred percent bliss. Maybe, if she were lucky and it happened again... Sasha got an idea. "Give me your hand, Buck."

Skeptically doing as she asked, Bucky thrust his left hand forth, metal fingers glinting in the sunlight just as the beads from Sasha's dress did. Sasha grasped his wrist and gently led it down to her slightly swollen stomach, splaying his fingers across there with her own. They waited like that a few moments, and just when Sasha figured there would be no repeats of the miracle, a sturdy impact against her stomach took place again.

"Oh my _god_ ," Bucky whispered, "is that...?"

"She's kicking," Sasha confirmed, grinning so hard her face hurt. "Our baby girl, she's... God, she's so _strong_ , Bucky..."

They sat there a little while, just in fond silence, waiting for the little girl inside Sasha to make herself known again. When it became clear that she had done all she was willing for the day, and that there would be no more kicking, Bucky suggested they return to preparing themselves for the wedding, if Sasha felt any better.

"I think so," she whispered, smiling harder than she thought anyone was capable. "I love you."

"I love you too. With all my heart."

Yeah. Having just been given the most wonderful wedding present she could have asked for, Sasha was pretty sure there would never be a day she looked back on in her life with near the amount of fondness as this day was sure to garner.

\--

"Are you _crying_ , Stark?"

"Fuck off, Rogers, I am _not_."

"Hey, asshats, we're in a _church_ , watch your language."

Tony, Steve, and Clint all silenced themselves at a look sent from Natasha, who had heard the conversation and endeavored to silence it. The rays of the late afternoon sun beamed down and caught in her hair, setting it afire in a hundred different hues of red. In spite of the small dose of fear he felt at her approaching, Clint found he could still take a few seconds to appreciate the way she looked today, and sent a silent thanks towards Sasha for deciding to have her bridesmaids wear long, powder blue chiffon dresses. It wasn't often that Natasha looked so delicate, but Clint kind of liked it.

"They're _dancing_ ," she hissed, using an arm to gesture towards the newly wed couple in the middle of the designated dance area. Sasha, two inches taller thanks to the delicate gold heels adorning her feet, had her face pressed to Bucky's chest and her arms around his neck. In turn, Bucky was practically clutching the girl to him, hands pressing into her lower back as though he were frightened that she'd dissipate into thin air. "Do you really wanna be the ones to interrupt that?"

Clint looked at the couple again, then back to Steve and Tony. Although he'd denied it, Tony definitely had some damp streets running down his cheeks, but Clint elected to ignore them. Steve's gaze was directed towards Sasha and Bucky as well, pure, unadulterated happiness displayed in his expression. Must've been good to finally see his best friend so happy.

Clint knew he'd certainly felt that way, too, walking Sasha down the wedding aisle to give her away. He'd been shocked when she'd asked him to do it, had assumed she would have asked Sam, or even her brother Calix. But Sasha had insisted Clint be the one to do it, and shortly afterwards Bucky had asked Sam to be a groomsman, anyway. Being a part of their ceremony, allowed to be the first to see the passion in Bucky's expression once he unveiled Sasha, well it was... it almost inspired Clint to go out and buy a ring as well.

"Sorry, Nat," Tony mumbled, running a hand through his hair and moving towards the table of refreshments with a promised, "I'll be more quiet."

Steve shrugged his apology, and silently tapped Natasha on the shoulder before moving forward to continue surveying the happy newlyweds. She smiled at him, rolling her eyes before moving up to Clint, and lacing her fingers through his.

"Sit with me?" she requested, the softness he knew her to possess bleeding through.

"'Course, Nat," Clint answered, and took her hand to lead her a little ways toward the table possessing both their name tags.

Clint had spent much of his morning personally overseeing the reception hall's decoration. Bunches of light blue tulle draped along the ceiling and walls, connecting with gold fabric to the massive chandelier in the center. Hundreds of twinkle lights twined around every available surface, including ledges, door frames, windowsills, and the decorative arches the church seemed to be fond of. The table cloths were powder blue with gold detailing etched along the edges, and dozens of flower arrangements consisting of white lilies and soft yellow roses, tied together with pale blue gossamer, sat atop the tables. The pale blue name tags had the names of every guest scribed in looping gold, and scattered near those were blue and white chocolates and mints.

The room had taken _hours_ to perfect, and Clint was still bitter that Pietro had been tasked with picking up the catering, otherwise everything would have been done a million times faster. Clint had actually had to ask after Wanda's assistance to get the garlands up.

"Kind of makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, don't you think?" Natasha asked, eyes trained on Sasha and Bucky. Clint was also pretty proud that half of Sasha's current appearance was his doing. The hair had been easy to figure out, and Clint was kind of in love with Sasha's waves. Then, after she'd come back from her little visit with Bucky, beaming like a child at Christmas, Clint had returned to do her eye makeup, dusting gold powder onto her eyelids. "Knowing how happy those two are going to be. They deserve it, too, with all the stuff they've been through."

"It does," Clint admitted, but he couldn't find it in him to take his gaze away from Natasha. So gentle and at ease, so... well, she was always pretty graceful and poised, but today it was in a different manner. A little less... stabby. More carefree, as though she were simply _just_ a girl at a friend's wedding. "And they do. You know, everyone, Nat... everyone deserves something like that."

She must've heard the strange note in Clint's voice. Maybe it was just the atmosphere of the church, or the fact that he'd had a hand in the wedding preparations since they'd begun them a month ago, a little under a week after Bucky's sisters had metaphorically returned from the dead. Or, maybe it was just Sasha's situation with Bucky, which had made Clint realize life was too short to not hold everything near and dear to his heart as tight as he could. Regardless... Clint was feeling some type of way.

Natasha furrowed her brows, shot Bucky a confused sort of half smile. "Yeah, Clint, I know. Don't worry, I'm not, like, jealous or anything. You make me happy."

Somehow, Natasha hadn't understood what Clint had been alluding to just then, and he wasn't sure if that was a blessing or a curse. It didn't matter. He'd deal with it later.

The song for the first dance ended, and immediately changed into something more up beat. Clint was sure he could work with that, and standing, he offered Natasha his hand. "Dance with me?"

She looked up at him, green eyes piercing, and grinned. How she looked so much like an angel, Clint had no clue, and how he'd gotten lucky enough for her to like him enough to let him date her, he still didn't know. And to add marriage on top of that? No, he wouldn't think like that. He'd do it later. "I would love to, Clint."

"Good. Because Barnes might have insulted my skills, earlier, and I need to show him up at least _once_."

Natasha stood, leaned in for a kiss. "Well, let's see what we can do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, bit of a long one! I hope you all appreciate it, and I think you'll all like it! It's mostly fluff, so it's easy to enjoy. As always, let me know what you think, and the next update will come in time!


	42. War of Hearts

"Gosh, Rosie, aren't they just such a pretty picture?"

Rosemarie glanced sideways at Jasmine, whose blonde hair was beginning to escape from the artfully crafted bundle of waves at the top of her head. She didn't have to follow her sister's gaze to know that she'd been talking of their brother and his newly made bride. Rosie herself had been looking after the two of them for quite some time, both admiring their bubble of personal serenity and watching out for any suspicious looking party guests. The chance that Hydra would have been stupid enough to send an agent to Bucky's wedding was thinner than a centimeter, but it still existed.

And, yes, Jasmine was right. The first dance had ended quite some time ago and numerous couples had taken to the floor to dance, but no one was outshining the grace of the married couple. They seemed to be encapsulated within their own world, ignorant of the goings on surrounding them. Rosie could see, even from where she sat with Jasmine, leaning atop the table they'd been assigned, the absolute love and happiness exuding from Bucky. He was at ease, and his posture made it clear that he'd forgotten every possible threat that could have been in attendance to his wedding reception. Which was fine, Rosemarie supposed, because she was on the lookout and would be diligent enough for the both of them. And Sasha looked at him just as lovingly as he looked at her, positively radiant in her predominantly gold wedding gown. Together, the two were the complete picture of bliss, and the slight baby bump at Sasha's stomach told a tale of the perfect, typical American family they would soon become.

"Yeah, Jazzy, they're a real dream." Rosemarie had long since lost hope that she or any of her siblings would see something so simple yet beautiful as a wedding day, and now, pleasantly, she was being proved wrong. It wasn't often that something like that happened, and in this instance, it was pleasantly surprising.

Finally, for the first time in quite a long time, Rosemarie was allowed to be at ease. The first month away from Hydra and living in Tony Stark's tower, that had been... difficult, she supposed. Sleeping was hard; she'd forgotten how to relax enough for it, and had constantly felt that just as soon as she was on the brink of unconsciousness, someone would come for her. Or Jazzy. Socializing had been a little difficult as well. The only one who seemed to be as quiet in the group setting as her ha been Thor's brother, but he'd left just a few days after her and Jasmine's arrival. Everyone else was talkative, and Rosemarie hadn't minded being around them - she still didn't - but she had felt sort of out of place. Everyone understood, of course, and no one made it a big deal, but she kind of just felt out of place.

And everyone understood why, and no one pushed her to do more than she was comfortable. She just wasn't _used_ to the kindness, she supposed. That was all it was.

Jazzy, on the other hand, was acclimating to their new situation with flying colors. She'd befriended Sasha right off the bat, had become close with her and figured out how to be friendly with the rest of the tower's occupants as well. Which was not to say that Rosemarie wasn't cordial to them, but she couldn't object if someone labeled her as distant. Truth be told, she was. And it would go away with time, probably, but for now she was just trying to figure out how to cope.

"Somebody's staring at you," Jazzy chimed, placing a gentle hand on Rosemarie's arm to get her attention. Rosie tensed, scanning the immediate area for anything suspicious, anyone looking her way, before she registered the playful tone in Jazzy's tone. There wasn't a hostile; Jazzy was trying to poke fun. And, if that was the case, then...

" _No_ , Jazzy," Rosemarie sighed, exasperation dripping from her voice. How many times had they had this conversation? Her sister just refused to let it _drop_. "I told you, that's not gonna happen. It's _weird_ , and you're reading way too much into it."

"Weird for _who?_ You've been on him since you were like, fourteen."

"Would you lower your voice? He could _hear_ you!" She let her eyes wander over to where Steve sat, just to ascertain that he wasn't within earshot. Too late, Rosie realized that Jasmine hadn't been joking when she'd said Steve had been staring, and made full on eye contact with him. Instead of immediately breaking it, as many of the others in the tower did, Steve offered Rosemarie a heartfelt smile and began to get up, making to come over to her and Jazzy. " _Shit_."

Right, so this might've been the best day of Bucky's life, but it was sort of the worst for Rosie.  
Jazzy hadn't been wrong when she had brought up the fact Rosie had held a candle for Steve when she was younger; she was just better at hiding it, was all. Sophie, who had been nine and juvenile, had been permitted to be open with her girlish crush on Steve. Rosie hadn't been so fortunate, and at fourteen had been old enough to recognize that Steve would never be able to reciprocate her feelings, ever. Their age difference had been one of eight years, and anyway, she'd chalked her feelings up to a girlhood infatuation. They would all get older, Rosie would get passed Steve, and hopefully find someone her big brother would actually approve of.

But now everything was different. Now Rosie's whole family was in the twenty first century, Bucky and all. And her feelings... she'd never gotten the chance to get rid of them. In fact, not only was her crush not gone, but the super soldier serum reconstructed from Bucky's blood had _heightened_ her emotions. So now, Rosie was stuck with these stupid feelings for Steve, and a chance to act on them that was now feasible, as their own age difference was now the same as the one between Sasha and Bucky. Which meant, if Bucky said anything about Rosie's feelings - God _forbid_ he find out - his words would be completely hypocritical.

Rosie was now technically free to act upon her emotions. The question remained with whether or not she would actually do something about it.

"Hey, girls," Steve greeted them, a kindly smile similar to those he used to offer them dominating his features. "You both look great."

"You look _better_ ," Rosie mumbled, failing to realize just what she'd said before letting the words tumble forth. Leave it to her to say something weird.

But, honestly? Steve looked great. To coordinate with the color of the bridesmaid dresses, Sasha had requested the groomsmen wear bow ties of the same color. The pop of powder blue brought out the color of Steve's eyes, and seeing him in all black was... _nice_.

Jazzy giggled, glancing over at Rosie through her lashes, then back at Steve. Rosemarie wasn't sure what was running through her mind, but she had no doubt that it was slightly mischievous in nature.

Steve pulled out a chair and sat to Rosemarie's left. He smelled of cologne, something which reminded her of the ocean, in a way, and she was all too aware of how close he sat. Was it her mind playing tricks on her, or was her heart beating faster? No. No. She would not fall into some sort of stereotype. "You two enjoying the reception?" he questioned, leaning so that he could see the both of them.

" _Actually_ ," Jazzy interjected, responding to Steve's question with _far_ too much enthusiasm, "Rosie here was just saying how she's been wanting to dance, but doesn't have a partner. No one will ask her, and Bucky's probably gonna be preoccupied with Sasha for a little while."

 _Wow!_ She should have _known!_

"No I-" She'd barely gotten the beginning of the sentence out before Jazzy stomped on her foot. Thank god she'd had the sense to use the ball of her foot, too, because the heel would have been a real _bitch_ to pass off as a casual cough.

"Oh," Steve let out, brow creasing in confusion. "Well, Rosie, I mean, I'd be happy to dance with you. If you'd want?"

Rosemarie's face went bright red. Jazzy was so getting an earful later. "That's okay, Steve, you don't have to. I wouldn't want to be a bother or anything."

A laugh from Steve, a genuine one, graced Rosemarie's ears, and she wasn't sure she'd ever heard anything so beautiful. "Oh, please, it's no bother at all. Honestly, I would've asked earlier, but I wasn't sure if you'd want to."

"Great!" said Jazzy, far too enthusiastically. Ugh, could she have _been_ any more obvious? "I think a slow song's coming on next anyway. You two go and have fun!"

 _More_ than an earful. Jazzy would get an entire _lecture_.

Rosemarie hadn't had any choice but to accept, thanks to Jazzy's prodding and Steve's insistence. So, standing, she waited for Steve and let him lead her onto the dance floor just as the last song had ended. Somehow, Jazzy had been right; the next song that came echoing through the reception hall was slow and heartfelt. Rosemarie kind of hated her sister at the moment.

"I don't think I remember how to do this very well," Rosie murmured, looking up into Steve's gaze. Truthfully, she was sort of clueless when it came to dancing. Bucky would playfully teach her how to do it when she was younger, but that had been _decades_ ago, and most of that information had been replaced with assassination tactics. Since then, she really hadn't had the time for dancing, or anything at all.

Steve smiled, offering his hand to her. "It's easy," he assured her, guiding her hand up to his shoulder after she'd placed it in his. "I'll remind you. The swing age has kind of been lost on everyone these days, so all we have to do is sway."

"That's boring," Rosie remarked, trying not to let it affect her too much when Steve's hands slid into place on her hips. Her dress was pretty, yeah, but _thin_. Nothing much stood between her and Steve, and she wasn't sure how that made her feel. Giddy, definitely, but there was something else there too. She tried to ignore it as they began 'swaying', as Steve had put it. "I kind of liked the way it was back then. People could be awful, sure, but on the dance floor... it seemed like everyone was happy. Bucky loved it too."

Something close to an idea seemed to pop into Steve's head, and a moment later he grinned, flashing his pearly white teeth Rosie's way. "You know... Sasha's a dancer."

Hadn't that been brought up in passing? Rosie was sure that at some point in the last month, Sasha's passion had come up at least once. She couldn't keep track of all the things she and Sasha talked about very well, which was abnormal, because it used to be Rosie's _job_ to pay attention to little details like that. "I did know that, I think. Tony sends her to school, right?"

"He does," Steve affirmed.

When it became clear that he wasn't about to let anything drop, Rosie decided she should prompt him. "What's that have to do with right now?"

"Well, that means, theoretically, she should be able to handle herself in a wedding dress. And, if he hasn't forgotten anything, your brother is still the best swing dancer I know. Which means, if you're game..." Steve's hand slipped a little at Rosie's hip, but he caught himself, and repositioned it before it could go anywhere dangerous. "The four of us could maybe liven up the party?"

\--

"Mrs. Barnes?"

Yeah, it was gonna take a long time to get used to that. Sasha smiled, giddiness warming her chest. "Mmm?"

Bucky leaned his head down further, mouth a little ways from her ear. "I'm pretty sure someone's coming over here to steal you from me."

Though Bucky couldn't see it, as her face was carefully tucked against his chest, Sasha made a face of discontent. She didn't want to go anywhere; dancing with Bucky, she had decided, was the only thing she would ever need to do again to keep her happy.

Regardless, she heard the footsteps approaching.

"Excuse me, sir, but I'm pretty sure that dragging the bride to the dance floor immediately after the ceremony and then refusing to let her do anything but dance for an hour and a half is monopolization and I feel it's my personal duty to stop that right now."

Sasha, upon hearing the voice of her brother, pulled her head back from Bucky's chest and squealed. They'd been resting after the four songs they'd swing danced to at the request of Steve and Rosie, and she was still trying to figure out how she hadn't managed to tear the skirt of her wedding dress. Sheer willpower, she supposed. Anyway, she and Bucky had gone back to slow dancing, and Sasha hadn't realized that so much time had passed since the start of the reception. Perhaps it _was_ time to greet a couple of guests.

"Calix!" Sasha cried, removing herself from her new husband and wrapping her brother in her arms. It had been quite sometime since she'd seen Calix in person, the last instance being that godawful day when Bucky had technically kidnapped her. Calix had practically had a conniption when Sasha had informed him of her intent to wed Bucky, but with a little explaining and apologizing to both him and Rosella, they had both agreed to attend. "I missed you so much! How have you been?"

Calix let his arms encircle Sasha for a moment, then took a step back to look down at her. While he appraiser her, Sasha took the chance to drink in her brother's appearance. He looked normal, like he'd never experienced his life being threatened. His hair was starting to get longer, his face even more elongated and defined than when she had last seen, and if Sasha wasn't mistaken, his body was a bit more muscled underneath the white dress shirt he wore. Probably, he'd seen it fit to take a self defense class since his and Bucky's last altercation. Sasha didn't much blame him.

"Been good, Ally, but it seems like you've been better. You look stunning, by the way."

"Thanks," Sasha responded, unable to help the shy little smile on her face. Growing up, Calix had always had a habit of complimenting Sasha, had always done his best to show her affection. Both him and their father, in fact. But Sasha could think about that later; there was a certain ache to not having had her father at her wedding day, and it would be better for her not to dwell on that sort of thing. Looking back to her newly wedded husband, Sasha's smile grew even further. "My sister-in-law helped me pick it out."

"Speaking of which," Bucky added. God, he looked so handsome in his tux and the pale blue tie at his throat. Had he ever been as beautiful? "I think, unfortunately, that your brother's sort of right. I..." The pain on his face wasn't severe, but it was something Sasha could understand. The idea of having to separate from Bucky for any longer than she had to was sort of an annoyance, but it needed to be done, if only for an hour or two. "I think I'll go and check on Jazzy, see how she's doing."

Sasha made her eyes big and round, turning from Calix to Bucky. "Do you have to?"

There was indecision on Bucky's face. Deliberation. Something in his mind was telling him to do something, but he was trying to decide whether it was for the best. Eventually, an embarrassed smile appeared, and Bucky grabbed Sasha's arm, pulled her close. "Do you remember what I told you last night?" he murmured. Sasha wasn't sure if he was speaking low enough for Calix not to hear, but she couldn't find it in her to care. "As soon as this party ends, you and I have almost twenty four hours before our flight. And I told you. I will do _anything_ you want me to. So just... talk to your brother." With that, Bucky pressed an ironically chaste kiss to Sasha's forehead before departing from the situation.

With the chills running up her spine, Sasha wasn't sure it would be entirely appropriate _for_ her to continue speaking to her brother.

Nevertheless, she cleared her throat and turned to Calix, praying that the red in her face wasn't too defining. "S-so, um, how have you and Rosella been? Did she come with you?" Sasha remembered that they'd RSVP'd, but honestly? If Rosella hadn't been able to get past the trauma of what she'd been put through, Sasha wouldn't have blamed her.

Calix, who didn't seem like he'd heard Bucky's exact words but could guess the general nature of them, offered Sasha an amused half smile. "We've been pretty good. Rosella just stepped out to go to the bathroom, actually. The baby's sort of hard on her bladder. Or, that's what the doctor tells us, anyway."

"Oh, my god, I forgot! She's pregnant too!" Reflexively, Sasha's hands crept down to her own stomach. Her little girl hadn't kicked anymore since before the wedding ceremony, but she was still holding out hope. That small miracle had left a certain feeling of joy in Sasha's chest, and she's sort of wanted it to happen again. "How far along is she?"

"Little longer than you are. I think we beat you and Bucky by maybe three months. All Rosella talks about is how big she looks, but I just can't see how she doesn't think she's as beautiful as she is."

Well, _Sasha_ could understand. Her baby bump was a bit more prominent than she'd have liked, and in an emotionally low moment she'd even shed a tear or two. However, she remained grateful for the small person she was carrying around inside her. Though it had been unplanned, it did not go unwanted. "So she must be due pretty soon then?"

Calix nodded. The look on his face was the same one Bucky got when talking about their own unborn child. "Yeah, the date's supposed to be October 30th, as far as they can guess. We're having a boy."

Sasha's heart swelled at the mental picture of a little Calix running around. Their children would be much closer in age than she and her brother had been, and she wondered if that would make her little one as happy as it would have made her. When they were younger, Sasha had yearned to spend as much time with Calix as she could manage; doing that with a five year age gap hadn't been too easy.

"So..." Behind Calix's playful exterior, an underlying tone of seriousness awaited Sasha's ears. Oh, boy. More than likely, she knew _exactly_ where this was going. "I don't mean to be a pain, Ally, you know that, and you know I want what's best for you... Dad, he asked me to look out for you before he died, and I would've done it anyway, but... Alright, look. I know you and Bucky are in love. I'm not saying that's wrong. But, I mean, if he was able to turn into a whole different person that fast, are you sure it's safe to... you know... be with him?"

Something tight clenched Sasha's throat. Even though she knew this was a standard protective big brother move, she couldn't help the sorrow it placed in the pit of her stomach. Calix and Rosella might have forgiven him for what had taken place, but there was no erasing the fact that it had happened. And yes, this was something Sasha had thought about in the back of her mind. It had taken about six months for the first Winter Soldier relapse to take place. It had been provoked, of course, but it had still _happened_. If there was a repeat, and Sasha was with child while it happened... how long could she hold out? And would it put their baby at jeopardy?

Sasha sighed, biting her lip before remembering that red lipstick had painstakingly been swept across it. "Calix, I... I don't really have an answer for you. With the way everything is, and how it's all turning out, I just don't think he and I are going to have the luxury of planning ahead. We aren't going to be able to predict what's gonna happen and when, and all he can do is his best for me. All I know right now is that I have Bucky, and Bucky has me. We're all we have, and you know what? I'm okay with that. As long as I have him, I don't care what else happens. Because I know I'll be able to get through it."

Really, that was true. Marriage, bearing a child, getting older... Sasha didn't want it with anyone but Bucky. Perhaps their relationship was just a little unorthodox, and maybe Bucky's past as an assassin invited more dangers into her life than would have been brought on if Sasha had chosen to marry anyone else, but she didn't _care_. She loved him with every fiber of her being. Having lost him for that month had been terrible, and then having been so close to him that she could touch him but not having _him_ had been twenty times worse. Those days stuck in that motel, waiting for him to either remember her or kill her had been agonizing, and it had made her realize that she needed to hold onto him for as long as she could. So, if it came down to it, and Bucky relapsed again, she'd fight it all over again. Do her best to make him remember.

Whatever it took.

Calix clapped her on the shoulder. Wearing her heels, she was at eye level with him, a small victory she would have killed for back when they were children. "As long as you're happy. Despite everything, I think he's really good for you."

Sasha grinned, unable to resist. "I mean, it probably helps that we have a whole tower of superheroes to look after us, right?"

The playfully bitter expression her brother offered up gave Sasha just the tiniest bit of satisfaction. "All you ever used to talk about was Steve _freakin_ ' Rogers. I'm surprised you aren't marrying _him_."

Well. If she'd wanted to, she could have brought up her _unfortunate_ habit of mentioning Steve's name to Bucky in very intimate situations, but something told Sasha that Calix would have a bit too much fun with that.

"Alexandrea!"

Calix's eyes widened slightly, and Sasha reflexively cringed at the approaching voice. Their mother's voice always just seemed to kick up their adrenaline, no matter what the context. Logically, they both knew there wasn't actually any reason for their mother to make them feel so high strung, and they were both adults anyway, but... well. Maybe it was the years they'd spent tiptoeing and waiting to get out of the house. Either way, it didn't change how they responded.

"Brace yourself," Calix muttered, slinging an arm around Sasha's shoulder.

"How much you wanna bet the first thing she says is an insult?" Sasha shot back under her breath.

Their mother Vivian, wearing a long sleeved pink dress and her graying blonde hair twisted back in a simple up-do, sauntered towards the both of them. Admittedly, this was possibly the first time her expression held little to no disdain for her children. "My beautiful babies!" she exclaimed once she'd come within conversation proximity. Her eyes roved over both Calix and Sasha, and stopped at Sasha's stomach. "Dear, have you been putting on weight?"

Yeah, there it was.

"Well, mother, that is what happens when one gets pregnant, remember?" Oh, she'd need to be _careful_ here. True, it was Sasha's wedding day, but her mother wasn't above making a scene when put off.

Almost as though she'd forgotten the long conversation she and Sasha had had, Vivian's eyes flicked quickly down Sasha's wedding dress, where golden lace and chiffon shrouded Sasha's slightly swollen belly. "Ah, yes, your... child. When you told me about that, I'd hoped you'd been joking."

Honestly, the disdain in Vivian's voice was nothing she hadn't heard before, but Sasha still bristled. Her mother could talk badly about her all she wanted, and she would take it, but... not about her child. _That_ was unacceptable.

"Mom," Calix sighed, sounding as pissed off about the comment as Sasha felt, "why are you _always_ -"

"Cal, you don't have to," Sasha interrupted, looking at her big brother. Ever since their dad had died, Calix had made it his job to defend Sasha from their mother. She'd appreciated it so much, loved knowing that her brother cared enough to protect her from their mother's wrath. But... Sasha was an adult now. And just as she'd decided she needed to learn to defend herself instead of relying on Bucky, she was now deciding that it was time to be a big girl in _all_ aspects of her life.

Which included standing up for herself.

"Mother," Sasha began, straightening her posture and looking Vivian in the eyes. It was hard at first, but she'd get used to it. One day. "I know you've only ever wanted what's best for me, but has it occurred to you that maybe your idea of what's best isn't what mine is?"

Vivian furrowed her brow, then pursed her lip in a sense of superiority. Oh, God, they were going to have to do this the hard way then. Sasha so hadn't wanted to have any negativity thrust upon her on the day of her wedding, and yet, the universe insisted on it. Figured. "Well, dear, from what we've seen, your idea of what's best is as far away from the definition of the word as you can get. You're barely married and you're _pregnant_ , Alexandrea, and with the child of a man who you've only just _met_. How do you know that this isn't just the latest stunt in your rebellious phase?"

No, no, no. _No_. Not here. Not today. The anxiety had already overpowered Sasha once, she definitely didn't need a repeat of any of it, and least of all in front of her mother.

"Okay, you know what?" Sasha fumed, exhaling a breath sharply and angrily. Her mother had gotten to her, sure, but she wouldn't break down this time. Wouldn't give Vivian the satisfaction. All her life, Sasha had bent to her mother's will, conceded and done everything she'd been told, save for the few times she'd found the power to break free. Now was the time to make it clear that none of it would be happening anymore. " _Stop_ talking about my family like that, do you understand me? Stop. You've no right to come here, on _my_ wedding day, and tell me that my happiness is wrong. Maybe I haven't known Bucky for years and years, mother, but I've known him long enough to know that there is no one in this world who would make a better father or husband. Do you think I slept with him just to spite you?"

Calix scoffed beside Sasha, and she would take satisfaction in that later. She'd also probably kick herself, because she was definitely speaking loud enough for passing guests to hear her.

Her mother's face went red with a flush of embarrassed color. "Alexandrea, do _not_ -"

"No, seriously! Is that what you think this is about? That I got myself pregnant to piss you off? Do you honestly think I care about your opinion that much?" At her mother's angry and prolonged silence, and at Calix's proud, approving half smile, Sasha kept going. This lecture was _long_ overdue. "I _love_ Bucky, mother, _that's_ why I'm here today. And _that's_ why I'm four months pregnant with a daughter who I will raise correctly, alright? You go ahead and you say whatever you want about me, okay? _Whatever_ you want. I don't _care_. But don't you ever, _ever_ try to say anything bad about Bucky or my baby again, and don't you _dare_ question my love for him. As _if_ spiting you is more important than improving my own life while you are so _stuck_ in your own problems from the past. Now, you are welcome to stay for the rest of the reception, but until you are ready to talk in a civilized way, I don't want to talk at all. I don't need the negativity, it's bad for the baby."

And with that, Sasha simply turned on her heel and walked away, pausing to give her brother a pat on the shoulder before fully wandering off to find another guest to chat up. Wow. That had been... _liberating_ , in a way. Truly liberating.

Sasha hoped that as she was walking away, the shaking of her hands wasn't too visible.

\--

  
Bucky had nearly forgotten about his mother-in-law, and had been urged by Jazzy to resist the temptation to go over and pointedly end the argument which had arisen between Vivian Jamison and Bucky's new wife. He didn't need to be within earshot to understand what the two of them were arguing about, not with the unconcealed rage on Calix's face. Had Jazzy not stopped Bucky from walking over and getting involved, he was sure the situation would have escalated further. But, it hadn't been needed. From what Bucky could tell, Sasha had handled everything beautifully, and on her own.

"If your daughter's anything like her," Jazzy mused, taking a sip from the wine glass which had been set before her, "you're gonna have your hands pretty full."

Bucky scoffed. "You're telling me," he mumbled, eyes caught by Jazzy's motion. "Are you legal?"

Raising her eyebrows in amusement, Jazzy pointedly took a larger swig from her glass, the red liquid within draining itself into her mouth. She gulped it down, then said, "I'm literally eighty four years old. Don't you think that's pretty damn legal?" God, how she looked so like their mother.

"I think," Bucky shot back, reaching to take the glass from her hand and upending it into his mouth, draining the rest of the liquid before looking back to his sister, "that physically, you never aged passed seventeen, which means that until we get the government to rescind your death certificate and your next birthday passes, _you_ are still a minor."

"Buzzkill," Jazzy muttered, using her arm to swiftly nudge Bucky in the side.

He rolled his eyes, taking the force of her elbow with grace and wrapping an arm around her shoulders once she was done. It felt good to be so close to his little sister, to be able to joke and kid with her as he had years before. There were few other feelings which could compare. If they could just find Sophie, get her back... Bucky's life might just become completely whole again.

Putting the hopeful thoughts for the future out of his mind, Bucky let himself revel in the feeling of the present and leaned forward to press a kiss to Jazzy's cheek. Something that, until about a month ago, he thought he'd never have the chance to do again. "Let me be a big brother while I still can be, yeah?"

Jasmine smiled at him, and rested her head on his shoulder, playfully pouting. She pointed to where Rosemarie and Steve were lounging a few tables away. The two had their heads bent together, and seemed to be engaged in playful conversation. A glass much like the one Bucky had just taken from Jazzy rested in front of their sister. " _Rosie_ gets to drink."

"Well, _yeah_ ," Bucky affirmed, "we're pretty sure Rosie's at least twenty, and I mean, if we let Sasha drink, we _have_ to let her drink." From what Bucky could see, Rosie pushed Steve in an... oh, holy shit. If he wasn't mistaken, Rosie and Steve, they were... they were _flirting_. "How long's that been going on for?" he asked Jazzy, motioning with the arm his sister wasn't leaning on to the scene before them.

"Rosie and Steve?" she asked, trying to clarify. "Jamie, that's been happening since the _thirties_."

Not that Bucky had been aware of, but admittedly back then his priorities had been limited to keeping his family safe and finding a pretty girl to kiss. Everything had been so much simpler back then, but... no, he wouldn't trade anything for the life he was living now.

Especially not when his wife looked so god damned _gorgeous_ in that wedding dress of hers.

Bucky let his eyes stay on his sister and his best friend for a moment, mulling the situation over. Honestly, he had to admit that they were kind of... cute? But the thought of Steve and Rosie getting up to the things that himself and Sasha got up to... Well. Bucky knew himself. Bucky also knew that he'd influenced Steve a _lot_. Which meant that Steve could potentially be just as mischievous, if not _worse_ , than Bucky.

"Stop that," Jazzy said, lifting her head from his shoulder.

"What?" Bucky tried defending himself. "I'm not _doing_ anything."

Jazzy rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You've got that big brother look on your face. Just, let them be for tonight, okay? Don't stop anything."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Bucky said pointedly. "Besides. I have my _own_ girl to worry about tonight."

Because Bucky and Sasha left for their hotel in a little under two hours. And he planned to make the pre-honeymoon only _slightly_ less memorable than the actual one.


	43. We Rattle This Town

Natasha had never given much thought to her own potential for marriage. As a young child, having been placed into the Red Room before having reached puberty, most of her focus had been pushed towards learning various ways to eviscerate a man with her bare hands in at least three different ways. Ironically enough, the groom of the wedding she was currently attending had been the one to teach her the skill. Bucky had made sure Natasha's focus had been on her teachings, and when she'd become older, grown into her body and learned how to capture a man's attention, Bucky then made sure that Natasha's attention was split three different ways: one part for her teachings, one part for him, and one part for making sure they weren't caught in their romantic escapade. Bucky's lips, predictably, had been the first Natasha had ever kissed strictly because she'd desired him. Obviously that hadn't ended well for either of them, but it had led to both Natasha and Bucky finding the people who made them happiest in the world.

She could remember, in full detail, the day she'd met Clint. How he'd taken one look at her, trapped against a wall with the barrel of his gun pointed between her eyes, and looked at her with something she hadn't necessarily wanted, but had probably needed: pity. She and Clint had been playing a cat and mouse game for days, and when he'd finally caught her, he'd become the first person in her life to ever show her a shred of compassion. Trusting him had taken a little while, but not as long as it had for her to trust anyone else. And, following that... they'd fallen in love. Bucky had been her first kiss, but Clint had been her first _true_ love. They'd been together for quite a few years now, and had grown as comfortable as anyone could have expected them to.

And now, at the wedding of Natasha's newly made friend and her former mentor, she was, for the first time, pondering her own marital status. Not just because she was at a wedding, and that's what people who were unmarried while attending weddings thought about. Also not because she was hoping and praying for Clint to propose; he would when he wanted to, if he ever did. Natasha didn't much care either way - or, that was what she told herself.

No. At this wedding, in her powder blue bridesmaid dress with a number of gaping girls surrounding her, Natasha was contemplating the possibility of her own marriage for one reason, and one reason only: the yellow and white flowers, tied together with lace and ribbon, which had just landed themselves in her grasp.

She'd caught Sasha's bouquet.

If Natasha chose to believe in the power of time honored wedding traditions, that marked her as the next to be married.

A few things fell into place in her mind as she looked down at the flowers in her hands. The first was that, Clint had been jumpy earlier. She'd written it off at first, and had just assumed it was because he'd spent the better part of the day decorating the halls with not enough sleep and too much caffeine, but she should have had the sense to know better. The second was that he'd told her, specifically, that everyone deserves something like marriage to make them happy. Natasha had thought that a weird remark as well, thinking that Clint was under the impression that she was jealous of the wedding, but that hadn't been the case.

Natasha didn't believe in traditions like this... but it was a _hell_ of a coincidence.

Wanda, who had stood next to Natasha in anticipation of the bouquet, let the other girls and bridesmaids around them disperse themselves before addressing Natasha. "What's wrong?" the girl asked, fixing Natasha with a gaze too wise for her young years. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

It wasn't that she was seeing a ghost, so much as becoming less of one. Natasha didn't think that would make sense if she said it out loud, so instead she let her brows knit together and stated the obvious. "I caught these."

Understanding dawned on Wanda's face, a face which looked so similar to Pietro's. Their eyebrows were the same, as were their noses and cheekbones. Funnily enough, every time someone remarked upon the similarities, both twins insisted they looked nothing alike. A faint smile found its way onto Wanda's face, and though she looked sympathetic, she also looked as though she found Natasha's antics slightly amusing. "The flowers don't decide whether he asks. I wouldn't worry about that if I were you."

But that was the _thing_. As Natasha moved away from the center of the room, making way for the men in attendance of the wedding to prepare for the garter toss, she couldn't help but think that Clint didn't _need_ to be coerced into proposing to her. If she was right, he was getting ready to do it all by himself, of his own volition.

And, though she'd learned to accept that she deserved someone to love her just as much as anyone else did, the fact that Clint would choose to make himself be stuck with her for the rest of his life was enough to terrify Natasha on his behalf.

"Don't look so sick, Nat," Tony told her as he passed her on his way to the center of the floor. "You and Barton are gonna be just fine, alright?"

She couldn't make herself answer Tony's optimism before continuing on, to find some place to sit. Sasha would be back with Bucky, as he actually had to get the garter off her leg from under her dress, so Natasha would need to pick someone else to unload her feelings on. She scanned her options. There was the table with Pepper and Maria, women who Natasha felt comfortable speaking to about her worries, though not in their current setting. Bucky's sisters, having rejoined each other because Steve had gone over to play the game of the garter and therefore could no longer occupy Rosemarie's attention, sat a little ways away as well, but Natasha didn't think she was close enough to them yet. A couple of girls Sasha knew from college and had invited were scattered about, but Natasha didn't dare entrust her feelings to a stranger, not with how intimidating and off putting she knew other women found her. And so, Natasha had simply made to sit at a table, all by her lonesome, and resolved to bottle her emotions and bury them deep within her, to be dealt with at another time.

Or, that had been her original plan. Not two minutes after Natasha had sat herself down, content to watch the men prep themselves for the garter toss as Sasha attempted not to blush too hard as Bucky slid his hands beneath her dress and up her legs, very _publicly_ , to actually obtain the garter, a pretty woman in a ruby red dress with lightly tanned skin and a stomach so swollen Natasha was pretty sure she'd burst at any moment, made her way over to the table.

"Hello," she greeted a little hesitantly, offering Natasha a shy smile. Even with the one word, the Spanish accent wasn't too thick, but was noticeable enough for Natasha to catch. "Would you mind if I sat with you? My husband's over with the rest of them, and I can't stand to be alone much."

Despite having wanted the time to herself... Natasha wasn't about to turn away a pregnant woman who wanted company. "Of course," she answered, tucking locks of her own red hair behind her ear. Once the woman was seated across the table, Natasha let her settle herself a moment before launching in to friendly conversation. There was no need to make the woman suffer with her in silence. "Which one's your husband?" she asked, gesturing with a head towards the mass of men in suits, laughter which was most likely spurred on by a bit too much to drink echoing from their group.

The woman looked to where Natasha gestured, and smiled softly. Turning back, she answered with, "The shortest blonde over there, wearing the gray suit. His name is Calix."

Realization dawned on Natasha, and she let her smile grow warmer for the benefit of the woman she was speaking to. "You must be Rosella, then," Natasha remarked, "you're Sasha's sister-in-law."

Rosella's delicate eyebrows raised themselves up her forehead, but the smile she offered Natasha wasn't insincere. Surprised, that's all she was. "Yes. How'd you-?" She cut herself off, rolling her eyes and making a noise of exasperation. "Of course, how could I forget? You're one of the heroes, right? One of the ones who set up the rescue?"

Technically, yes. Much of it had been Tony's idiocy and Sasha's willingness to put herself in danger to protect her loved ones, but Natasha had technically helped. "I am," she confirmed. "My name's Natasha."

"It's nice to meet you," Rosella assured her, beaming at her with the sort of glow that only a pregnant woman possessed. "I can't thank you enough for what you've done for my family."

"I hardly did anything," Natasha pointed out, confused. Truly, Sasha had done most of it. Natasha had just made sure she hadn't died while doing it from the safety of a screen.

"You still helped," Rosella countered, "and I'm grateful." After a few moment of silence between the two, Rosella hesitated, then questioned, "Is something wrong, Natasha?"  
She flinched, annoyed at how openly she had to be displaying her emotions. "That obvious, huh?"

Rosella chuckled a little, absentmindedly placing a hand on her stomach. If Natasha had to guess, she'd say the woman was a month at most away from her due date. "To be frank, you seem a bit down for having just caught the bouquet." Ah, yes, the white and yellow flowers she'd left to rest on the table in front of her. It was silly, but something about touching them just made her feel the smallest bit worse. "Do you not... you don't approve of...?"

At first, Natasha wasn't sure what it was that Rosella was attempting to ask her. That was how she knew her emotions were becoming dangerously handicapping; those thinking skills which, coincidentally, the groom of the wedding she was currently attending had instilled in her by way of threat and punishment, were made blurry by her personal feelings. She got it, though, after a few seconds. "Oh, Jesus no, Bucky and Sasha, they... they're _fine_. I think they're cute together, actually."

"Okay," Rosella continued, blinking a few times, "then what is it?"

To tell this woman she'd just met about her torturous thoughts, to admit to feeling insecure and distant to a complete stranger went against every fiber of Natasha's being. There were few people she trusted, and even fewer that she let in on her feelings. In fact, she could count the exact amount of people she was totally honest with on one hand. But for some _insane_ reason, with Sasha and Clint occupied by the garter toss and having no one else to turn to, Natasha found that she was extremely limited on her options.

To hell with it, then. Why not?

Natasha sighed, picking up the glass in front of her and sipping it. She wasn't sure exactly what it was, but she would've much preferred tequila in any case. The way she was feeling, she sorely needed it. "This tradition, it... I'm not superstitious, or anything like that, but... _if_ I were, it would mark me as next to be married. And my boyfriend, he's amazing. Probably planning on proposing soon, actually, and I just... that _terrifies_ me."

Rosella pursed her lips a moment, thinking on the sudden spout of information which had just been sent her way, making Natasha inwardly wince. Communication wasn't difficult; _emotional_ communication, however... her skills in that area left something to be desired. "You don't want to marry him? Or is it, like, a commitment thing?"

"Oh, God no, nothing like that," Natasha responded quickly, taking another swig from her glass. Yeah, she'd _definitely_ be hitting Tony up for the flask of whatever it was he was carrying around in the flask in his coat pocket. "Clint, he's... I love him to death, I really do. I'm just afraid that if he proposes and we get married, he'll have locked himself into a relationship he doesn't want."

At that, Rosella's brows knit together. "Alright, so... you don't think he loves you? Is that it?"

Huffing in frustration, Natasha very nearly pushed a hand through her hair, at the last moment remembering how painstakingly it had been styled. "No, he loves me, I know he does. I'm sorry, I don't know how to make myself clear, I... well, I'm not good at talking to people about personal things, I guess. I just don't... I know he loves me, but that's what I don't get. I'm an awful person, to be frank, and he doesn't... _deserve_ that, you know? He deserves better than me, and more than what I can give him."

Yes. That was it. And, though she knew she'd just hit the nail on the head, Natasha hated it. She hated feeling that way, hated the fact that she hated herself, always insisting that she didn't deserve the man she'd been given. She was sure it made Clint angry sometimes, too, though not with her. _Never_ with her.

A soft smile was on Rosella's face, and she stood, moved to the chair on Natasha's left, and placed a reassuring hand on Natasha's shoulder. Normally, Natasha wasn't for allowing things like that, not with people she didn't know, and yet... it comforted her to know that Rosella saw some form of good in her. Whatever it was about Sasha's family that made them such kind people - well, excluding the mother - Natasha was thankful that it existed.

"My mother-in-law," Rosella began, "hates my guts. She thinks that the day her son laid eyes on me was the day that I dragged him to hell, or something, because she can't stand me. Won't say it outright, of course, but it was bad when Calix and I were dating, and it's even worse now that we're married. And now that I'm pregnant? Calix hardly lets her near me, and for good reason. But, there had been a time... he took me home to visit his family over winter break our junior year of college. Two years ago, actually. Sasha and Calix had left the house to do some last minute Christmas shopping, and they left me home with Vivian. And, lovely lady she is, she took it upon herself to tell me that her son deserved only the best sort of woman. Someone who was going to take care of him, and love him, and be faithful and all of that. For some reason, she thought that I was the exact opposite of those things, and I... believed her, for a little while. Until I asked Calix if he really loved me, if he didn't mind putting up with me and all, and that was when he proposed."

There had been many times, out on field missions and such, when Natasha hated life. Certain fights she hadn't been able to win, people she couldn't save, that time Thor's brother had enslaved Clint's mind to his will. All of those events had been truly horrid, each and every one of them difficult to get through. Something about a terrible mother-in-law, though, Natasha couldn't wrap her head around. That sounded like the true definition of hell.

"Basically," Rosella continued, "what I'm saying is... Chances are, your Clint probably loves you just the same as you love him. And you shouldn't let anyone, not even yourself, tell you otherwise. There's no coming back from it."

Apparently, Natasha needed to get into the habit of making more friends.

"Thank you," she said, offering Rosella a warm smile. "I-"

"Maximoff, you cheating _bastard_!" Wow, so no one was really giving any attention to the fact that they were inside of a _church_. And, if Natasha wasn't mistaken, that was Clint's voice. "You can't use your powers!"

"Yeah? And where's it say that, huh? In the garter toss rule book?"

Both women turned their heads to survey the situation. From where she was, Natasha saw Bucky and Sasha, still standing on the raised stage before everyone else, trying far too hard not to laugh. The crowd of unmarried men still swarmed the floor below them, each one breaking out into conversation ranging from chatter to heated debate. Clint was close to the front of the group, where Pietro, silver hair accented by the dark suit he wore, held the bridal garter triumphantly in his hand, still raised above his head. Natasha was convinced that if he weren't careful, Clint might attempt to jump for it.

"Oh great," Natasha sighed, shaking her head and standing, "looks like I've got a fight to break up."

Remaining seated, Rosella giggled. "Good luck. On both parts."

Unsure of what else to say, Natasha simply offered Rosella a, "Thank you," and swiftly left to prevent a homicide from occurring.

\--

Bucky had, many times, been in a position which could potentially get him killed. Guns had been aimed at him, knives thrust toward his throat, bombs set, accidents planned. And he'd survived each and every one of those situations respectively, coming out on top every time. But, aside from the possibility of his death, each of those scenarios had one more small detail in common with each other.

His survival hadn't been entirely dependent on his ability to get a girl out of a wedding dress without fucking _ripping_ it.

"I'm saying this once, and only once," Sasha let out, mouth unbearably close to Bucky's own. "This dress cost a lot more than I'd like to admit, and I am never wearing it again. So. If you rip it, you are never touching _me_ again. Do you understand?"

"Turn around," he replied, forcing himself to even out his breathing. Ironically, he was in a dress ripping mood. Thanks to the gunshot Dominika had so kindly gifted him with before her passing, Bucky's doctors had made it explicitly clear that physical activity was to be kept to a minimum until full recovery. Words which Sasha had made sure to _live_ by, to his exasperation. As a consequence, they hadn't slept together since... well, probably since the conception of their child, but Bucky didn't really want to think about it.

No, what he _needed_ to do was focus on the ridiculously intricate back to his wife's wedding dress, because if he didn't concentrate those buttons were going to pop right off.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Bucky muttered, beginning with the ties lacing up the back of Sasha's dress. "You come into my room the night before our wedding, trying to _soil_ my virtue and pressure me into premarital sex, and yet _this_ is the wedding dress you pick to have me get off your body?"

Sasha scoffed, no doubt an amused smirk finding its way to her mouth. Bucky might have twisted her around to kiss it off her, if he weren't so damn _preoccupied_. "I thought you liked this dress," she murmured, voice taunting.

And, really, he had. Seeing her walk down that wedding aisle on Clint's arm, knowing that she was for him and only him, had made Bucky... excited. Giddy. _Eager_ for their honeymoon to begin. Anyone in their right mind would have been, truthfully, and when Bucky had found that it was time for he and Sasha to leave their guests and check into their hotel room, Steve had made sure to personally wish him good luck just before the car had driven off. Bucky hadn't understood what for, but now he was sure he did.

Whether he liked the dress or not, it was going to be the death of him.

"I do," Bucky shot back, lowering his mouth to press against where Sasha's shoulder met the base of her neck. She stiffened, and Bucky knew he'd affected her exactly as he'd wanted to. Let her be smug all she wanted; Bucky would take his time later. "But I'd like it better on the _floor_."

"So _do_ something about it," Sasha whispered.

Right. So, the laces first. Thankfully, his hands had been molded into agile weapons over the years, meaning the ties and laces weren't too difficult to do away with. No, the hard part came with the god damned _buttons_. They were small, and covered in a silk like material, which made them difficult for his left hand to grasp. Not only that, but they were dainty little things, and if Bucky pulled too hard, they were bound to come off.

"You know what?" Bucky began once he was almost all the way down the dress's back. Just two more, and they could get on with it. "I can't say I'm too upset about the fact that I'm never gonna have to pull this off you again." Another button came undone, leaving Bucky with the last one down near the bottom of Sasha's spine.

"Wish I could say the same about your clothes," Sasha responded quickly, turning her head back to smile softly at him. "That tie works for you."

"Well I mean," Bucky purred, finally getting the last button undone, "we can get _creative_ with it, if you'd like."

Sasha shivered, but leaned back, pressing against Bucky's chest. "I might take you up on that. For now, though..." She turned, eyeing him with a look he'd never seen her give him before. It was that of a predator stalking its prey; a look which said Sasha knew exactly what she wanted, and what she was going to do to get it. Rocking up onto her tiptoes, she braced her arms on his chest, clutching at his shoulders to give herself more stability before leaning to press her lips to his ear and whispering, "Take your jacket off. Then the tie. Then get the rest of this dress off me, and maybe we can get somewhere."

"Mrs. Barnes," Bucky whispered back, smirking to himself. She'd stiffened at her new name in delight, just as she did when he let his hands run along the length of her torso before bringing them up to begin shrugging out of his jacket. "You've read my mind."

Removing the clothing she'd asked him to hadn't taken long, just as removing her dress was a mere matter of shimmying the fabric past her hips, revealing the lacy white lingerie she'd been wearing beneath. Well damn. Wasn't her body just stunning. Wasn't every _inch_ of her just _stunning_.

"And now?" Bucky murmured, pulling Sasha by the hand as he walked backwards to the bed.

She giggled, leaning her forehead down to touch his, thanks to their newly settled height difference. He was _aching_ for it, for _her_ , and Bucky hoped to god that there was no one occupying the room neighboring theirs for the strangers' sakes. "You have to ask?"

This was where he knew he possessed the upper hand, and instead of waiting for further instruction, as he should have, he placed his hands on Sasha's hips and urged her onto the bed and down, straddling his hips with her legs. "I made a promise," he teased, looking her in the eyes as he brought her hand up to press a kiss to her palm. "Whatever you want, and _exactly_ as you want it. So tell me..." He let himself kiss her, then, and Bucky found that he could feel the giddiness and anticipation rolling off Sasha in waves. Yeah, she'd be just as antsy for the contact as he was. That made sense. "How you want me..." Another kiss, intensely passionate, and he found himself allowing his tongue to tease hers, just slightly, before finishing his sentence. "And I will do _anything_ you ask me to."

And ask she did.

Well, actually, when they got down to it, it was more like _begging_ , but... Well. Bucky had certainly made sure to do all she asked of him. When she wanted to be kissed, he kissed her, when she wanted him to move a certain way, he did. When Sasha asked him, on maybe their third round, to utilize his tie, he'd gotten up to retrieve it and used it to secure her wrists to the headboard without a single word. Their marriage was something which would, hopefully, last for the rest of their lives, and he'd wanted to start it off in as best a way as he could. Later, after the fifth time when Sasha had fallen onto the bed beside him, too exhausted to keep going, Bucky knew he'd achieved his goal upon seeing the satisfied, dreamy look on her face.

"Do you remember the day we met?" Sasha asked, burrowing her way beneath the covers before moving to rest her head on Bucky's chest. He brought his arms around her, pressing her as close to his own body as he could. Such a warm little thing, she was. He couldn't believe he'd done anything in his life to deserve her in the way he had her.

"'Course I do, silly," Bucky sighed happily, letting his fingers run through her hair. It had grown longer, in his absence, and he'd not properly been able to take note of it before. "How could I forget? You were trying to get yourself _killed_."

"I was not!" Sasha protested, a small hint of humor in her voice. "I was defending myself!"

Bullshit if he'd ever heard it before. "I'm sorry, what was it you told that lowlife? Miss _'I could do this all day?'_ If I remember correctly, that was Steve's line, wasn't it?"

"It was _you_ this time!" At first, Bucky wasn't sure what he'd meant, but then she elaborated, and Bucky all but kicked himself. "I want that to be known; I didn't say shit, this was _all_ you."

"I bring him up _one_ time and I get picked on for it, meanwhile you're sitting here, having said his name at least four different times!" Talk about hypocritical. "I think I'm allowed some leniency, don't you?"

Clearly amused, Sasha raised her eyebrows, unable to keep from laughing. "Whatever you say, Bucky."

"Anyway," he continued, brushing her bare shoulder, "why'd you ask if I remembered us meeting?"

"I just... the memory keeps coming back, is all. When I first saw you that day, I never would have dreamed I would marry you. To be honest, you scared me at first, a little bit."

He supposed that made sense; he wasn't exactly the friendliest looking guy on the planet. He'd like to think he looked a bit better to the public eye now, but he didn't give a damn either way. Bucky remembered clearly, he'd not been scared of Sasha as she had been of him. There'd been no need; she had been a simple civilian, and he had possessed the skills to kill her, if need be. Not that he would ever _dream_ of that; back then, though, back when they'd first met and he'd seen Sasha as a reckless, unfortunately beautiful young woman... God, he could have had no idea just how important she'd wind up being to him.

"I understand," he responded, glancing over at the digital clock on the nightstand. 2:05 in the morning. His wife was going to be _quite_ grumpy when he woke her up to leave for the airport in a couple of hours. Still... it seemed now was as good a time to talk as any, so he kept the conversation going. "What do you think of Hallie?"

This was a game he and Sasha had been playing for weeks. The two of them could agree on a plethora of subjects normally; a good name for their daughter, however, was something they were still working on.

"We're not naming her Hallie," Sasha quickly responded, laughing a little to herself.

"Why not?"

"The same reason you didn't want to name her Eliana."

"Oh, _I'm_ sorry, were _you_ the one tortured with that name in a false memory? No? Okay." Even just thinking of that name... it brought back a certain sort of feeling which prompted him to clutch Sasha closer. Not Eliana; not if he could help it.

And, apparently, not Hallie, either.

"What about Margaret?" he suggested, looking up at the white ceiling of the hotel. They should really go to sleep, he knew. Dealing with airport security was already going to be a pain in the ass just on account of his arm alone. "That's pretty, don't you think?"

Sasha scoffed, letting him know just what she thought of the name Margaret. Bucky scratched that off his mental catalogue as well; at the rate they were going, all his name suggestions would be rejected before the two of them fell asleep for the night. "Why are all your names so basic?"

"Back in _my_ day, we didn't bother with pretentiously fancy names." Which, admittedly, was probably the reason the two of them were having such a hard time settling on one. All of Bucky's were simple enough; Sasha's were uniquely creative, enough that they put Bucky off. "Let's just take a second to remember, _you_ were the one who tried to convince me to name her Persephone."

"I happen to like mythology, is that a bad thing?"

"It is when you wanna name our baby after the queen of the underworld."

"She was the goddess of spring first and foremost," Sasha defended herself.

Rolling his eyes, Bucky let out a sigh, leaning to brush his lips to the top of Sasha's head. "Let's just drop names for tonight, yeah? I think we're both pretty... _tired_." Not in the bad way, either.

Another laugh escaped from Sasha, and she picked herself up and out of Bucky's arms to lay herself back down so that they faced one another, eye to eye. How he'd managed her... That was truly something he'd never understand. It almost wasn't fair, to be honest; she'd just agreed to share the rest of her life with him hours earlier. Whatever he'd done to convince her that it had been a good idea was something he'd need to amplify within himself by twenty times the magnitude if he expected to keep her interested.

And, of course, there was the sex.

Lots and lots of sex.

"You're so pretty," Sasha murmured, sighing deeply and letting her eyes slip closed. Bucky could easily argue that she was prettier, even without the makeup which had maid her look like some sort of radiant queen hours before, but he supposed he should instead just accept the compliment. If they got into an argument about which of them was prettier, they'd get no sleep at all. "God, she's going to have _such_ a nice jawline. I hope she gets your eyes."

"Do you have the blue eye gene?"

"The _one_ good thing my father gave me," Sasha muttered under her breath, a faint smile playing at her lips. "Hopefully she's not too short."

"If her attitude's anything like yours, I hope so too," Bucky remarked, letting his own eyes close. "God knows that rage isn't contained well in such a small person."

"Fuck off."

"Love you too."

For a few minutes after that, they'd fallen silent. Sasha's eyes had closed and her breathing had begun to even out, prompting Bucky to assume she had fallen asleep. How she did so as quickly as she did was a mystery to Bucky; there were many nights when he found himself staring at Sasha as she slept, waiting for sleep to take him. He supposed he didn't mind how long it took him to fall asleep as long as he had her to look at while he waited. When he went to close his own eyes, however, Sasha spoke.

"Bucky," she whispered, a drowsy haze dominating her speech. She was tired, he knew; he's kept her up long enough, and they both would need their rest. Still... he couldn't resist the tone.

"Yes, love?" Bucky whispered back, finding himself unable to open his eyes again.

"All of this... the wedding, the baby." A little pause, then, " _Me_. You're sure... you're sure you want all of this?"

Even with his eyes closed, Bucky knew their positioning well enough to bring his right arm around to rest his palm on the side of Sasha's face. "For better or worse. That's what I promised you."

Bucky barely hear Sasha's mumbled "Okay," before slipping off into a sleep filled with warm dreams.

\--

"We need to talk," Steve muttered as he shuffled into Tony's lab. He could never understand how his friend managed to stay awake at such a godawful hour, but tonight Steve was finding that he couldn't sleep either. Although... tonight, there was a reason for it. Tonight, just after his best friend's wedding, Steve had been contacted by certain people. If there was anyone he knew with experience in the sort of situation Steve was being forced into, it would be Tony. "That is, if you aren't busy."

"I always have time for you, Capsicle," Tony replied, setting down a piece of tech and turning to face Steve. Tony hadn't bothered changing upon returning to the tower, and had simply opted to remove his suit jacket and roll his dress shirt sleeves up to his elbows. "What's up?"

How to say this without freaking Tony out... Steve couldn't find any way to do that. In a moment of weakness, he'd almost confided in Rosemarie, but after the night they'd had, out and celebrating at the wedding, after she'd smiled so wholeheartedly for the first time she'd come to live at the tower... he couldn't do that to her. Not after she'd just started to find happiness in life again. And so, he'd come to Tony, knowing that, if anyone could help, it would be him. Tony had been through enough to where he wouldn't be bothered by the situation, and could honestly probably help sort everything out.

"Steve?" Tony tried again, the amusement slowly dropping off his face as Steve came closer to his workbench. "What's wrong, man?"

This was important. This was _important_.

"I... It started at the wedding," Steve began, setting his jaw and looking over at the large picture windows set into the far wall of the lab. A wall of black speckled with thousands of little lights; Manhattan was truly beautiful. "I didn't want anyone to worry, so I took care of it, but... I'm not sure how much longer they'll let it slide."

"Wait, slow down," Tony tried, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. Maybe he should've waited to do this until the morning, with how out of it Tony was. But, in the morning, Steve would have had to face Jasmine, face _Rosemarie_ , and he couldn't have gotten through that without feeling guiltier than he already did. "What are you talking about? I mean is someone, is someone after you? Are they looking for you?"

"Not me," Steve sighed, shaking his head and looking back to Tony. "It's... they sent a government agent. Not from Shield, not from Hydra, but... I don't know, FBI? CIA? Whoever it was, I wouldn't let them inside, but they were looking for Bucky, and they said... They said their goal was to try him."

Tony's expression went cold. "Steve. What do you mean? What are they trying him for?" Before Steve could offer an answer, Tony walked a few feet away to pick up his phone, immediately beginning to unlock it and search for whatever he was looking for. "He hasn't _done_ anything illegal."

"Well, Tony, he's..." God, he'd never imagined getting Bucky back would be this difficult. Hadn't even considered the fact that the aftermath of his best friend coming home could, potentially, get him in a whole mess of trouble. However, after his relapse into the mindset of the Winter Soldier, well. Steve didn't like it... but he supposed he could understand. "He's killed people. Publicly."

"What?" Tony replied, looking up from his phone. "No he hasn't. What do you mean?"

"That video," Steve sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "the one he sent out as a message when he was trying to get Sasha's attention. Hydra had him shoot up a whole street in midtown Manhattan as a stunt, remember? They'd been looking for him ever since then, and they flagged his name, so when they sent out their wedding invitations I guess the government... Point is, they found him, and I barely managed to get them off our backs tonight. They said they'd be coming back soon, but I mean, Sasha and Bucky will be on their honeymoon in Jamaica for three weeks. No fucking way our government has jurisdiction in Jamaica, right?"

"I mean, I don't know," Tony muttered, looking up at the ceiling as he thought in the subject. "Not like I'm an expert on the law or anything, but we do a lot of shit in other countries that no one asks for. Probably cause, I guess, but they don't know he's going to Jamaica."

"They'll I.D. him at the airport," Steve pointed out. Maybe saying something before Bucky and Sasha had left would have been a good idea, but he'd just wanted to grant his friends one last moment of peace.

"I'm sure the government hasn't managed to put out a hit on him that fast," Tony tried, uncharacteristically optimistic. More than likely, it was for Steve's benefit. "We'll give them a couple days on their honeymoon, then we'll call them, alright? We should probably tell the others tomorrow morning."

Rosemarie was going to murder him. No way would she forgive Steve for keeping the information from her, but she'd just looked so happy earlier. He couldn't bring himself to say anything while she'd looked so serene for the first time in ages. Nonetheless, she was going to be pissed, and Steve didn't even want to think about Jasmine and Natasha.

"In the meantime," Tony sighed, blinking a couple times and bringing his phone up to his ear, "I'm calling reinforcements. I'm not sure how serious this is going to get, and we're going to want to be prepared."

"What? Who are you calling?"

Tony narrowed his eyes slightly, then met Steve's eyes. "You remember that crazy guy running around in Hell's Kitchen a couple weeks ago? Shooting up every mobster he could get his hands on?"

For a moment, Steve's heart stopped. "Tony," he began, unadulterated shock in his voice, " _please_ tell me you aren't calling the fucking Punisher."

"Don't be ridiculous, Rogers," Tony shot back, "I'm calling his lawyers."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I hope you enjoyed what you've read and I'd love to know your thoughts! Thank you to everyone who reads and supports!


	44. Small Bump

"I apologize, but I'd just like to make sure I have my facts straight. You're telling me there's technically no case for me to defend?"

"Technically?" Steve responded, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise to his neck. "No. They haven't pressed charges or shown a warrant yet, but I get the feeling that as soon as he's back in the country... there's no telling what the government's gonna pull. I'm sorry, Mr. Murdock, I told Tony we should wait to bother you."

Because the night before, when Tony had mentioned Frank Castle's lawyers, Steve had been a little iffy on the subject, but had ultimately had to admit that it wasn't such a bad idea. Granted, he'd assumed no one would be contacting anyone for at least another week, and hadn't even dreamed that Matt Murdock would agree to be seen on the very same day. Steve had asked Tony what he'd done, what sort of bribe he'd offered the blind man before Steve currently; Tony claimed that all he'd had to do was name drop the Winter Soldier, and Mr. Murdock had agreed to meet immediately. Now, Steve was representing his friend in a case that he wasn't even aware of yet. Talk about a wedding present.

"Actually, Mr. Rogers, in a case like your friend's... well, trust me when I say it's good to jump the gun. We want to build up as much evidence as we can to appeal to a sympathetic jury. So, can you tell me anything that I can use to help his case?"

Mr. Murdock was speaking calmly, rationally, as a professional attempting to subdue some of the anxiety a client was exuding. Steve appreciated it, actually, and found himself impressed with the efficiency and manner with which the lawyer worked. Honestly, he knew it was more than likely biased, but Steve had been shocked to see how well put together Mr. Murdock was. His hair was combed neatly, his suit immaculate, his face well shaved. Steve was amazed at how nice Mr. Murdock had looked when he'd first appeared in the tower, his cane swinging slowly back and forth as he'd walked in.

"You want sympathetic?" Steve asked, trying to make sure he had his facts straight.

"Yeah, that would be ideal. If I can paint him in a light that makes him seem sympathetic, relatable, anything like that, I'll be more likely to swing the jury his way if it comes to trial. They can't just throw him in jail without a jury's ruling; no matter who he is or what he's done, it's his constitutional right."

Steve knew how Bucky would feel about being glamorized in an air of pity, but he supposed there was no helping it. And, anyway, Bucky was off in Jamaica; Steve was the one left to make the decisions. "Alright," Steve responded, letting his eyes wander as he thought, "sympathy. Uh, he's recently married. He's out on his honeymoon, it's why I'm meeting with you instead of him. Does that help?"

Mr. Murdock nodded, and though his eyes were hidden behind his red lensed glasses, Steve could have sworn he saw an excited glint in those broken eyes of his. "A lot, yes. How old is she? What's her name?"

"Um, Sasha Barnes, formerly Jamison-Pierce. Twenty one years old this November." Then, because he'd been asked for sympathy and everyone important already knew, Steve continued, "She's almost five months pregnant."

"Pierce," Mr. Murdock repeated. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

"If you'll remember, almost two years ago now, when the intelligence agency named Shield failed, my coworker Natasha Romanov expelled all of our confidential files onto the Internet. Sasha's father had been the head of Hydra within the agency."

"That's something," he murmured, seemingly deep in thought. "Although... was Mrs. Barnes aware of her father's position?"

"No," Steve responded, shaking his head though the man before him couldn't see it. "Sasha was adopted. Pierce was her biological father, but he never had her contacted until after his death. In fact... Hydra had Sasha tortured to taunt Bucky." Maybe that hadn't been his to share, but Steve was going to need to put that out of his mind for the moment. In the long run, all of this was to help his friends, to keep them and their future child safe. For that, Steve was sure they'd be fine with his giving their histories to the lawyer who was to help them. "Mr. Murdock..."

"Please, Captain Rogers, call me Matt."

Despite himself, Steve smiled a bit. "I'll call you Matt if you call me Steve."

Matt smiled. "Agreed. Did you have a question?"

Not a question necessarily, but close, Steve supposed. "More like a comment, I guess. I'm not sure how these sorts of things work - trials, and all. But, I mean... I just want you to know that these are good people. Bucky and Sasha, they might not be saints or anything, but they don't deserve what's coming to them. They've fought for their relationship as hard and as long as they could, and just when they get it, this court case comes up. Some random prosecuter is going to stand there in a room full of watching people and slander the shit out of my friends. That person might even believe what they're saying, but I just... I just wanted to make sure you know the people you're defending are good. The situation is messy, and Bucky's not technically innocent, but I'm telling you; he wouldn't have done it if he'd been able to help it."

For a moment after Steve had finished speaking, Matt remained silent. Contemplative. That scared Steve, if he were being honest, the chance that this lawyer they'd signed onto the case without the consent of either Bucky or Sasha was not entirely convinced of Bucky's innocence. A beat later, though, Matt shifted, took his glasses off and placed them carefully on the table in front of him. Again, Steve could have sworn Matt's unseeing eyes were taking in every aspect of the room around him.

"Steve," Matt started, his words wrapped in a placating tone. "This may come across as slightly biased, but if Captain America is personally asking me to defend someone in court? I automatically have to assume they can't be bad people." Oh, thank _god_. "Now, I haven't met these two personally, but I have no doubt that they are every bit as good as you say they are. I'll defend them right up until conviction if it comes down to it."

Unsure of what to say in response, and surprised at just how much that _meant_ to him to hear, Steve mumbled, "Thank you."

"Of course," Matt responded. "Now, getting back to sympathy... you said Mrs. Barnes was five months pregnant?"

"Just about, yeah," Steve affirmed. "They're having a girl."

"Do they have a name picked out?"

Snorting, Steve answered, "Uh, no, they're still working on it."

A small smile pulled at Matt's mouth. "I see. Well, the baby will give the jury something to consider. No one wants to see a child grow up without its father. And then, Mrs. Barnes's ties to her father shouldn't be stated unless the prosecutor finds out about it and brings it up, so we should be fine there. Anything else you think might help?"

Steve racked his brain, trying to think about all that he knew of the couple in question. Their whole story was pretty fucking bleak, if he was being honest, but he really didn't have the time to relay their entire relationship to Matt without everything getting too time consuming, and anyway, he should probably let them do that themselves. But then...

"Well, I mean, there are his sisters."

Matt's eyebrows rose, his dead eyes staring off into a darkness Steve found himself wondering about. "Mr. Barnes has living sisters?"

Resigning himself to the fact that there was no way in hell he was going to be able to look Rosemarie in the face for the rest of the day, Steve reached up to rake a hand through his hair and nodded. This whole thing was _so_ out of his jurisdiction. "Yes, two. Or... three, actually." This was going to be a bitch to explain, wasn't it? "Two living in the tower. Their names are Rosemarie and Jasmine Barnes."

There was silence for a moment as Matt waited for Steve to go on, and when he didn't, Matt prompted him with, "And the third sister?"

 _Not_ something Steve liked thinking about. The thought of poor Sophia, sitting in a cell all alone, waiting to be unfrozen by the people who had more or less made them her slave was enough to cause bile to rise to his throat. "That's Sophie. She's... she's like Bucky."

"Like Bucky." Matt repeated, slowly, almost unsurely. "In what... context? If I may ask."

"She's... they took her and did to her what they did to him. Her memories were wiped, no doubt they've been using her to kill, and she's completely under Hydra's control. Brainwashed, just like her brother. We're not sure if we're ever going to get her back."

And that sucked to think about, when Steve actually _let_ himself think about it. Little Sophie, just twelve years old, being kidnapped and forced to train in killing and torture. Brainwashed. Completely taken away from herself. Bucky himself had barely managed to overcome the trauma; God knew the affect everything would have on Sophie. If they ever got her back, there was no telling what she'd be like. No doubt she never knew much of a social life away from when she was twelve, and Steve was sure Hydra agents weren't exactly ideal friends for her to keep.

"Well, Steve," Matt responded, a look mixed with shock and disbelief openly set on his features. "I think we just found our sympathy vote."

\--

Bucky's lips pressed at Sasha's shoulder, left bare by the strapless white maxi dress she'd chosen to wear for the day in hopes it would make her appear taller. Unfortunately, it had not served its purpose, though Bucky had made sure to make little comments about how lovely her silhouette looked here and there. Sasha appreciated the thought, but wasn't quite fooled.

She'd been staring at the sunset as she leaned against the stone balcony just outside their hotel room. Their entire honeymoon had been one very large, overly expensive gift from Tony, and apparently when the man went big he went _big_. Sasha hadn't ever been outside of the United States, excluding a trip to Canada during her high school years, and Jamaica, at a glance, had been everything she'd hoped to see and more. The islanders were lovely, the water of the beaches so crystalline. She loved the atmosphere, loved the people friendly enough to welcome her and her husband, and she even loved those who were not so inclined to approach her. Honestly, Jamaica was amazing, and it was that simple: she loved it.

"Come shower," Bucky murmured against her skin, nose nuzzling the indent where her neck and shoulder met. His breath was warm, much like the island air surrounding them. "You seem like you need to relax."

Sasha scoffed, and turned to the left to catch him in a kiss. "Don't pretend like that's the reason you want me to come shower with you, Buck."

Having been caught, and giving a chuckle which said he knew he had been, Bucky let his arms wrap carefully around her middle as his head came down to rest on her shoulder. "Listen, all I'm doing is trying to save the environment. I know how we both are with hot water; there's no sense in draining Jamaica's supply."

"Bucky, if you want me to have sex with you, all you have to do is ask. We _are_ on our honeymoon, after all."

A playful sigh escaped his lips as he let go of her and shifted so that he was leaning against the balcony as well, back facing the view so that he could look at her sideways. "Would you let me romance you a little bit? Jesus _Christ_."

"Are you telling me I'm too easy to get into bed?"

"Ye-" Bucky snapped his mouth shut, eyes widening to the size of dinner plates. Sasha simply crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow in amusement. She was sure she had him under the impression that if he weren't careful, he'd be sleeping on the floor for the duration of the rest of their trip; while this was not necessarily true, it was still pretty entertaining to see Bucky struggle. "Let me rephrase what I was about to say. I can be romantic for you; you don't have to sleep with me just because we're married."

"Given the fact that this little one was conceived before our marriage," Sasha pointed out, gesturing to her stomach, "I know. But it's something I enjoy, so you don't have to try very hard at getting me to agree." She moved closer to Bucky, pressing both her hands to his chest. Poor boy didn't stand a chance.

Bucky looked like he wanted to protest, but between the contact and the proximity of their faces he seemed like he was about to cave. Good. Let him experience her the way she'd been experiencing emotions for him the last few months. "I..."

Sasha leaned up, pulling his head down so she could press their lips together. Just as their mouths met, a ringing noise sounded. Bucky's phone had begun to go off in his pocket.

"Don't answer that," Sasha warned, a desperate tone in her voice as Bucky reached down to his phone. "Bucky-"

" _Now_ look which one of us is the one wanting sex," Bucky chuckled, bringing a hand up and running it along the length of her braid. "It's just Steve, alright? It'll take like, five minutes max." Before she could protest, Bucky pressed the answer button on his phone, bringing it up to his ear. "Listen man, all I have to say is it better be important, because Sasha's about to kick my ass for taking this call. What's up?"

Sasha was about to raise her voice to respond so that Steve could hear her along with Bucky, but then she heard a voice crackling, letting her know that Steve was answering Bucky's statement. Which, originally wouldn't have been such a big deal, if not for the fact that Bucky's whole body went rigid as his face turned pale. Not something which was easily done, especially in the Jamaican heat.

Whatever Steve had said, it hadn't been anything Bucky would have wanted to hear.

Suddenly, Bucky's hand shot forward, latched onto Sasha's, and he began leading her back into their hotel room, passed their clothing strewn all around their suitcases, and to the bed. Bucky sat down; Sasha supposed she should do the same, and she did, but not before asking, "What's wrong?"

She didn't receive an answer. No, all she got was an apologetic look from her husband as he lowered the phone from his ear and put Steve on speaker. "Alright, Sasha can hear you now, too. Now; _what_ is this about the government?"

Sasha's heart dropped, and she wasn't quite sure why. Steve hadn't even stated the problem yet, but if the government was involved, and if Bucky was reacting the way he was... surely it must be something big. _Surely_.

But what the fuck could they _want?_

"Look, don't freak out," Steve tried, voice crackling over the line in a blurred rush. "We're handling things."

"Too late," Sasha muttered, crossing her arms around her middle. It was stupid, she knew, but she kept glancing around the room, trying to find a camera or a microphone or something. The government wasn't that concerned with them, right? And they wouldn't have known they were coming to Jamaica before they'd boarded their flight. At least, that's what she hoped.

"Listen Rogers, if you're having something _handled_ -" Bucky spat the word out, loading it with venom that wasn't one hundred percent intentional, "-then don't tell me not to freak out. If there's a problem, I need to know about it. What does the government want?"

A hesitation, but one that lasted only a second. Then Steve inhaled a breath and launched into his story, moving so quickly that neither Sasha nor Bucky could interrupt him for fear of missing a detail. "Alright, don't hate me. The night of your wedding... an agent was outside the church, trying to get in. I caught them before they could, and they told me they were looking for Bucky. A lot of stuff went down, but they basically said the government was planning on detaining and trying Bucky in court. I was going to tell you guys... but then I saw the two of you dancing and how happy you looked, and I didn't want to be the one to take that away from you. So I just... Didn't tell you? Which sounds pretty stupid, because it was pretty stupid, but it seemed like a good idea at the time."

"God _damn_ it, Steve-"

"Bucky," Sasha interrupted quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder. She couldn't calm him, but she could try. "Calm down, okay? Steve was just trying to do something nice."

He looked like he wanted to snap at her, like he wanted to tell her there was no excuse for her endangerment. He wanted to, but he didn't; Sasha wasn't sure if it was because of the warning on her face or not. Whatever it was, his voice lost the edge it had taken on. "You said you were handling it," Bucky said to the phone. "How?"

"Tony called a lawyer. Matt Murdock. Ring any bells?"

The man who had defended Frank Castle with his firm partner. The same man who had put Wilson Fisk in prison. Sasha hadn't been able to keep many tabs on the going scandals and crimes taking place in Manhattan, but she'd paid enough attention to recognize such a controversial lawyer's name. Finding herself immediately weighing pros and cons. On the one hand, Mr. Murdock was a _phenomenal_ lawyer. While his firm wasn't one that made as much money as others, it was a firm that genuinely cared for its clientele and fighting for justice. Something like that was important to Sasha. But then, on the other hand... Mr. Murdock had made somewhat of a name for himself when he and his partner had chosen to defend Frank Castle, and it was a name which deemed the lawyer as a defender of the hopelessly guilty. Not a reputation which would help Bucky, but... she imagined there wouldn't be many other lawyers who were willing to defend the man who had shot up innocent New Yorkers on camera.

"And he's..." Bucky's voice cracked. Sasha was only just beginning to understand how truly upset he must be by the situation. If she thought it was bad, there was no telling how worried Bucky was. "This lawyer, he knows that I did it? And he's okay with defending me still?"

"It wasn't you," Sasha whispered, willing him to look her in the eyes. "You didn't have a choice."

"I know," Bucky muttered back, "but I did it."

"Matt knows about the brainwashing," Steve chimed in. Though he'd been telling them not to worry, Sasha could still hear the strain in his voice, knew that it was there despite Steve's best efforts to conceal it. "And he still wants to help. We're going to do as much for you two as possible."

"There's nothing to _do_ ," Bucky pressed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Just five minutes ago, he'd been as serene as Sasha had ever seen him. The lines of his face had been relaxed into a smooth bliss, and there'd been a light in his eyes which she'd never seen before. Now both aspects to his appearance were gone, made forfeit by the stress and worry this news was bringing to the both of them. "There's an actual video of me walking around Manhattan with a gun, shooting people. I _killed_ on a live feed. The government has every piece of evidence they need to convict me. We can't win."

God, how she wanted him to stop _talking_ like that. Didn't Bucky know what his words did to her? Didn't he know that he wasn't the only one in pain right now?

"Come on, Steve," Sasha prompted after Bucky's matter of fact statement received no reply. "There's gotta be something you can tell us to make this all a little better."

As she knew he would if there was anything positive to say at all, Steve jumped on the hint. "Well... this one's kind of a two way street, but it helps, in a way. Matt told me that in a case like this one, because they didn't show up at your wedding with an actual warrant for Bucky's arrest, it means the government is most likely trying to gather everything they can to throw at you as evidence before they take anyone to trial; in a case like this, they don't want an accidental mistrial or an acquittal. And, I mean... well, let's be honest, there's a fuckton of evidence, so it could take months, or even a couple of years before you see a courtroom. Which works in our favor, sort of, because that's time we can use to expose both of you to the public through interviews and press in a positive light. If the public is sympathetic to you, you're more likely to win the jury to your side, because the public will be your jury."

"Do you honestly _think_ ," Bucky snapped, "that in a case like mine, the government is just going to let me walk around free? They might not try me for years, Steve, but that doesn't mean they won't throw me in a penitentiary while I wait."

Not for the first time, Sasha's heart dropped into her stomach. Just the thought... just the _possibility_ that Bucky was going to be ripped away from her, _again_ , by her _own_ government, was enough to make her want to scream, and for a multitude of reasons. There was the fact that they'd just found their ways back to each other, after months of bodily harm and distress. Then, of course, there was the fact that they'd literally been married for less than twenty four hours and the government already wanted to fuck their relationship over.

And then there was the baby. The poor little girl that Sasha already loved with all her heart, whose father could be placed within the confinement of a prison before she even took her first breath. Why the universe had decided that hers was to be the life that was perpetually screwed over, she didn't know, but she didn't much care for whoever had made the decision. Her daughter didn't need this; Bucky and Sasha themselves aside, their baby girl did _not_ need this.

"No one's putting you anywhere," Sasha urged. Let the bad thoughts loom on her all they wanted; she didn't actually have to pay attention to them. "Steve. Bucky and I are gonna talk awhile, okay? We'll call you back tomorrow. He and I need to figure a couple things out." That was, if she could coerce it out of him. Bucky, in past arguments, had tended to shut down pretty quickly; this was a situation where she wasn't about to give him that option.

Steve cleared his throat, seemed like he wanted to say something, then apparently let it drop. "Okay. Just... look, I'm sorry about all this, guys. Please don't let this ruin the rest of your honeymoon."

 _Too late for that_ , Sasha thought.

Instead, she simply responded with, "We'll do our best, Steve. Thank you for telling us. That's what's important." And then, the line clicked off.

And Sasha was left with her husband, who already seemed to be beating himself up over the situation at hand. Not that that was going to do anyone _any_ favors, least of all the two of them. She might've tried to get Bucky out of the small hole he appeared to be in with humor, if the look on his face wasn't so indicative of his emotions. He had a look in his eyes, one she didn't see often. Usually, when that look showed up, it meant he was determined, and that Sasha wouldn't be able to get him away from whatever it was he wanted to do.

When what he wanted to do was torture himself, however, Sasha was pretty sure she had enough determination to shut that shit down. It wouldn't be easy, but she could manage.

"Bucky," Sasha tried. It was ingrained in her to be gentle with him, but that was only going to last so long here. Especially because he wasn't acknowledging that she'd even spoken at all. As he'd been doing since halfway through the phone call, Bucky was training his gaze at the headboard of the bed. Not if she had anything to say about it. " _Bucky_." Still, nothing. Right. So this was going to need to be less gentle.

Careful not to jostle herself too much, lest she unsettle her baby, Sasha moved onto her knees and crawled towards Bucky. Once he was in her range, she grabbed his face, pulling it towards hers. "Damn it, Bucky," Sasha let out, not bothering to hide the annoyed insistence in her voice. Though his face was level with hers, his eyes would not see her. He cast them downward. " _Look_ at me, okay? Look at me. Tell me what you're thinking."

Grudgingly slow, Bucky let his eye drift up, first to her chin, then her nose, and finally let the blue of his eyes meet her brown ones. Though the situation was serious, Sasha's distracted mind couldn't help but bring forth the hope that their child received Bucky's eye color. How stunning that would be; how amazing it would be to see Bucky's face upon realizing he'd given his daughter something from himself, something he could see as precious when reflected back to him by their daughter. Of course, those thoughts weren't relevant right now; what _was_ relevant was getting Bucky out of his hole.

Bucky opened his mouth, slowly, the faint sound of words he wasn't too sure he wanted to say caught in the back of his throat. Then, a moment later, he let his mouth close again. Sasha hated seeing him like this, hated how small he'd become in only a moment, how unresponsive. One of the only other times he'd acted this was, shying away from her gaze and even her touch, had been the day they'd first kissed, after Hydra had seen fit to have her tortured. Now she knew she mainly had Dominika and Jacoby to thank for that.

Opening his mouth again, barely above a whisper, Bucky said, "I'm sorry."

Sasha was only beginning to become used to sincere apologies, to be honest. She'd received one from Rosemarie, who'd been made to torture Sasha for someone else's enjoyment and still couldn't look her in the face without seeing a flash of guilt over it. Another had been given to her from Tony, who had felt awful about getting it into his head that sending her to deal with brainwashed Bucky had been the best course of action. Wanda had given her one for convincing her to kiss Bucky while brainwashed, though it hadn't been necessary and Sasha probably would have attempted it on her own at some point anyway. There were also people she'd have liked apologies from, but knew they were apologies she'd never get. An apology from her mother, for example, would be nothing short of miraculous; one from Jacoby, for both her mutilation _and_ his attempt to rape her; an apology from Dominika would have at least _meant_ something, though it was far too late for that, and Sasha had been the one to make sure of it. Of all those people she wanted to apologize, though, _Bucky_ was not one of them. No. All she wanted from him was someone who loved her, someone she could feel safe with. Not an apology. Not an 'I'm sorry'. Just someone who would be with her for the rest of forever.

And they'd already made that promise to each other, as well as consummated the promise. More than once.

Confused, Sasha furrowed her brow and let her hands drop from Bucky's face. Surprisingly, he didn't immediately turn away once she let go. "For... _this_." Bucky, shook his head, closed his eyes, then opened them again almost as soon as he'd closed them. He was really taking this whole 'look at me' thing to a serious extent. Good. If it got him to stop wallowing, it was fine by her. "I should have... I should have _known_ something like this was going to happen. God, how _stupid_ I was to think I could... that I could have a normal life with you. I should have thought about this before I proposed to you, I shouldn't have... This is all my fault, I _shouldn't_ have..."

"Shouldn't have what?" Sasha knew. Of _course_ Sasha knew. But she needed to hear him say it. She needed him to confirm it, so she could knock some fucking sense into him. "Proposed to me? Married me?"

"I didn't _say_ that-"

"But that's what you're thinking! That's _exactly_ what you're thinking, isn't it? Because you _always_ do this, Bucky, you always blame yourself for getting me into hard situations!" When he didn't protest or correct her or fight back, Sasha made sure to look him dead in the eyes before continuing on. "Do you remember what you said when Dominika had Jacoby cut me almost to death? You said Hydra came after me because you cared about me, and that it was all your fault. And then, after _that_ , we kissed, and you were so scared to let me in because you thought Hydra was going to murder me? And after that, when they actually showed up and took me and made you trade yourself for me? You remember all that don't you?" Bucky didn't even answer; all Sasha got was a nod. "Right. You blamed yourself for all of that. But _I'm_ the one who chose it, dumbass."

Despite himself, despite the situation and the fact that he probably really didn't want to, Bucky barked a laugh. "There's no need to call names."

"There is, actually! Because that's all that seems to get through to you! Me getting pissed off is the only way to get you to listen to me! You have _got_ to stop blaming yourself for all the bad shit that happens to me! I love you and all, and no offense, but Jesus fucking _Christ_ , James, could you be anymore arrogant? I had a life before you, and now I have a life with you, and all of the bad things that have happened to me are mostly because of who my biological father was, not because of who _you_ are. And, if we're being technical? All this is happening to _you_ because of _me_. If you hadn't met me, you could be off in god knows where, like, Romania or something, buying plums or some shit with Steve still stalking you."

Bucky sighed, face looking more tired than anything else. A hint of guilt remained, but it was faint, and Sasha figured commenting on it would be a waste of both time and energy. "I just keep thinking..."

"You know, I'm pretty sure we talked about that."

"Yeah, whatever," Bucky let out, moving to pull Sasha closer to him. He settled her into his lap, careful to give her enough space to breathe, then tucked the crown of her head beneath his chin. "Are you gonna let me contribute to the heartfelt moment, or not?" She chose not to respond, and Bucky chose to take that as an answer. "I keep thinking that, if I really loved you - and I'm not saying I don't, because I'd lose my fucking mind if I didn't have you anymore - but if I wanted to prove how much I love you, I would have done the selfless thing and pushed you far away. I considered it, for a time. Back when we were just dating, I'd hold you while you slept and I'd look at you and wouldn't be able to help thinking how much of a risk I was putting you in. And then we... slept together, and I realized that if I took myself from you, I'd have wrecked you more than I already had. So I stayed, because I loved you and I didn't want you to think you'd done anything wrong if I left you."

Okay... that _kind_ of made sense?

"So you married me out of... pity?"

Bucky's arms tightened around her, and Sasha could picture his face, eyes no doubt widening in shock. "No, love, of course not. I just have it in my mind that I'm doing something unfair to you by making you stay with me."

"You're not _making_ me-"

"That's besides the point." After a pause, one that said Bucky wasn't sure if he should broach the subject, he ultimately continued. "I don't want you to get mad at me for pointing this out, but you're not thinking long term. When I say that I've dragged you into something here... Look at it this way. Chances are, this trial is going to be publicized. _Extremely_ publicized. People are going to know you're married to me, and you won't be able to walk down the street without a dirty look getting thrown your way. People at school, on the street, at work, they're all going to look at you differently because of how we're tied to each other, and our _daughter_... Any friend she makes, their parents aren't going to want them anywhere _near_ our family."

"But we'll endure," Sasha promised, willing Bucky to believe that she meant what she said. "We'll make it work. We have before."

"Not on this scale."

Of course, in the back of her head, Sasha hated that she had to admit that Bucky was right. No matter what she wanted to believe, she knew deep down his words were the truth. And that caused her pain, and terrified her to her very core, but all she could do was push it far away, as far as she could manage, and pretend like it didn't bother her.

"I mean," Sasha began, tracing a pattern down the flesh of Bucky's right arm, "all I'm really concerned about is how fucking _awful_ the PTA group for little Marcelline's class is gonna be."

Bucky was about to respond, but his breath hitched in his throat before he could. After a moment of regaining his composure, he softly asked, "Marcelline?"

Ugh, damn. They'd never find a name at this point. "I don't know, I just figured I'd see how you-"

"I... I like Marcelline," Bucky mumbled under his breath, negative thoughts having been successfully redirected elsewhere. "Marcelline Barnes. That's pretty."

Oh, thank _god_. Sasha had been afraid their poor daughter was going to end up nameless for a week after her birth.

Feeling a rush of something - she was unsure if it was sympathy, or ecstasy, or something else - Sasha offered something she wouldn't normally. "You could... you could pick her middle name. Just, if you wanted."

She could feel Bucky's laughter rumbling through his chest, causing him to press up against her back. "What happened to 'not until you're the one carrying a life force sucking fetus around for nine months?' You sounded pretty set on that rule."

Wow. She wasn't very nice while pregnant, was she? Oh well. Bucky's problem.

"I may have been overreacting just a little," Sasha admitted, letting her eyes slip closed as she took in her surroundings, letting herself truly _feel_ Bucky's embracing arms. "Hormones will do that to a girl, you know. I just wanted to make sure you didn't try to saddle her with a name like Millicent."

"Hey, what's wrong with Millicent? My first kiss was a girl named Millicent!"

"Yeah, definitely not helping the name's case." To prove a point, Sasha shifted, causing Bucky to loosen his hold on her as she settled into her back and put a hand to her belly. "You don't like Millicent, do you Marcelline?" Sasha felt a shifting inside her tummy, but nothing she could claim as an agreement. "Baby girl, give me a kick or something. Tell your daddy you _don't_ want Millicent anywhere on your birth certificate." Still, not much.

Bucky smirked like he was about to prove a point, and propped himself up on one hand so he could lean over to Sasha's stomach and make a suggestion. Lips just barely brushing the ridges of the scars placed there, Bucky murmured, "Hey, baby girl. Maybe not Millicent, because your mom's gonna _murder_ me, but how do you feel about Denise?" There was a bigger shift, then. One that could actually be seen. Smiling, Bucky continued, "Alright, so we're kind of iffy on Denise. Um... do you like Mae?" More shifting, this time forceful. Before Sasha could figure out what was going on, Bucky tried again. "Okay, maybe that one's not for you. Marie?"

A hard kick. Like, a lot harder than the one they'd gotten before their wedding. Honestly, it kind of took Sasha's breath away, and she couldn't figure out if it was from awe or how freaking hard her daughter was kicking. Whichever it was, it was just as breathtaking.

"That was a yes," Bucky stated, triumphantly turning his eyes up to Sasha. Another kick happened as soon as he finished speaking, and that was when Sasha realized what was taking place. "What?" Bucky asked, seeing her realization unfolding on her face. "What's up?" And as he spoke, Marcelline kicked again, harder and harder each time she did.

"Say something," Sasha urged Bucky, excitement running through her. " _Say_ something, Bucky!"

"What's _wrong?_ " Bucky insisted, a small look of panic writing itself across his features. As Sasha predicted, Marcelline gave another powerful kick, practically leaving her breathless. "Are you okay?"

"It's your voice," Sasha breathed, laughing out of pure joy. "She likes your voice. She keeps kicking when you say something."

Bucky blinked, disbelief possessing his face before her words sunk in. After that, all he knew was joy. "Hey, baby girl," he murmured softly, as a father would to a sleeping child, "can you hear me?"

For a moment, everything in the room was still. Then, Sasha's stomach rippled from a decided kick. Then another. It was almost as though their daughter was begging Bucky to speak, to continue going with his end of the conversation just so she could show him that he wasn't going unheard.

Bucky let his head fall a few inches, just far enough that he could press his lips to Sasha's belly. "God, you're going to be the most wonderful little thing, aren't you? I'm spoiling you _rotten_. Dresses, sweets, toys... hell, I'll even play dress up with you..."

What a beautiful thing this was, that the two of them had with each other. As Sasha laid there, watching Bucky and their daughter have something of a conversation, Bucky speaking and Marcelline kicking in response, she couldn't help but tear up. Temporarily forgotten were Bucky's worries of being unable to be there and provide for their family. No longer did Sasha see the stress, the worry, the angry anxiety harshly carved into the lines of his face. Instead, she saw only pure bliss and amazement.

Being a father would suit him; it was something Sasha had picked up on early. So, instead of worrying about what _might_ be, thanks to the United States legal system, Sasha let herself lay there and gaze down upon her husband and her unborn child, her mind playing visions of what _would_ be once their baby girl was born.

Marcelline Marie Barnes.

Not basic at all.

\--

They'd taken her out, but they weren't saying why. They weren't saying much of anything, in fact, and that was perhaps the most puzzling aspect of the whole ordeal. In her experience, Hydra agents, no matter if they were new, young, or old, enjoyed talking about themselves _immensely_.

In any case, it didn't matter. It was not her place to ask questions, and she certainly didn't question her superiors.

Although they'd set to reeducating her almost as soon as they'd taken her from the cold room - and, really, 'reeducating' was just a polite way of saying 'mind wiping by way of electroshock' - she'd still had time to notice the subtle differences, as well as the not so subtle, between the last time she'd been awakened and this time.

All three of her fellow soldiers were absent. Winter's cryogenic chamber, the one to the direct left of her own, was empty. She knew that meant he'd escaped, because they never took her out of cryogenic freeze when they could be utilizing him. Her superiors were fond of reminding her that no matter how well she thought she was doing, Winter Soldier outshined her immensely. Not only was Winter's chamber empty, but Autumn's was as well, along with Spring's. That wasn't quite as perplexing, as Autumn was used almost constantly and Spring was particularly adept at solving technological issues, but to have all _three_ soldiers emitted at the same time...

They'd escaped, and they'd left her behind. Something, some remnant of her mind when she'd been a girl and _only_ a girl, told her that should bother her.

But she could not afford to listen to her human side, the one whose name she'd forgotten long ago, along with anything else which hindered her success in hunting and killing. Emotions were an annoyance, thoughts a mere distraction. She could not function as efficiently as would be needed if she let that side of her back in.

Not that it would survive very long, anyway.

"She has aged," her superior officer stated. "Her file stated that she was physically fourteen." It was a different officer from when she'd last been awakened; she knew, not only because her last superior officer had made the same comment, but because the last one had been a woman. Blonde, blue eyed, and without even the smallest trace of remorse in her demeanor. The last one could have eaten this new one alive, if she'd wanted.

She wondered if the blonde one's death had been eventful.

One of her caretakers, older and possessing far more gray in his hair than he had the last time she'd seen consciousness, cleared his throat in way of beginning an explanation. "The Cold War saw a need for her services, sir. The Soviets... paid a great deal for her brother's skill set, but he was preoccupied at the time, and so she was gifted to them instead. They kept her active for about three years."

"And there was no resurgence of memory?" Her last superior officer had asked that question as well, but just in the same way as the one standing before her, she had not received a truthful answer. There'd been one thing she had grasped onto, one word above all others that held some kind of importance to who she had been before. It was stupid to keep it, to hoard it in her mind as she did. The word was a weak spot, an exploitation, but for the life of her, she refused to let it go.

"No, sir, she remembers nothing of her personal life. Summer has been our most successful when it comes to behavior. She's never once stepped out of line." Or so they assumed. So they liked to think. She'd been deviant before; she just wasn't stupid enough to get caught.

And, moving on from there, they'd said those words. Those god damned trigger words, coded to her specifically to reset her mind, just in case. All four soldiers had them, each set specifically matching one soldier. And, to each soldier, their own codes were like daggers being shoved slowly into their chest. They'd certainly taken their time with hers.

_Charcoal._

_Blizzard._

_Melancholy._

_Four._

_Drafted._

_Moonlight._

_Floorboards._

_Porcelain._

_Sketchbook._

_K.I.A._

And just as they'd finished resetting her, just as they uttered the last syllable and prepared to prompt her with, " _Soldat?_ " she'd made sure to hang on to the one word in her memory. No matter how many times they shocked her or uttered her coding, she would grasp that word and never let it go. Someday she might find out what it meant; for now, it was the only thing she could ever keep for herself.

" _Soldat?_ " her superior officer tried again, forcefully. She'd taken a second too long in responding the first time, it seemed.

She looked up and said plainly, " _Ready to comply._ "

All the while repeating that one word over and over again.

_Jamie, Jamie, Jamie, Jamie._


	45. What's Worse?

Jamaica had ended _far_ too soon for Bucky's liking.

"You know, we don't have to go back," he had muttered the night before he and Sasha left for the airport to head home. Even as the words slipped out of his mouth, he knew they weren't the truth. For one, Sasha's stomach was ever growing; if they didn't leave when they were scheduled to, they'd most likely end up not being able to fly at all. And, of course, there had been the small fact that the government was after him. No doubt they'd track him down if he didn't voluntarily show back up in the country. "We could stay here. The islanders, they love you. No one's rushing us."

Sasha let her eyes meet Bucky's, and he didn't miss the wistful gaze there that said she wished that were true. For just a moment, Bucky had let himself stare at her, let himself really take in her appearance. Those weeks on their honeymoon had seen a darkening of her skin, along with a rejuvenation to the exhausted girl he'd woken up to in the hospital. Paired with the glow of a pregnant woman on a good day, Sasha was a vision of tranquility and beauty.

 _Fuck_ , was his wife perfect.

"I wish that were true," Sasha had sighed, offering him a resigned little half smile, "but you know we can't. There's too much for the two of us to tackle, and Marcelline isn't gonna wait for us to catch up."

"She won't have to," Bucky murmured, sitting himself down on the bed and draping an arm around Sasha. Absently, he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, left bare save for the strap of her tank top. "I love you, you know."

Exhaling a laugh through her nose, Sasha used one of her hands to grab the one of his nearest to her; the metal one. "I love you too, James."

He raised his eyebrows, unable to resist the temptation to tease. Anything to keep his mood light, really, because he would not have Sasha finding herself married to a man full of angst. "Oh, really? James?"

Rolling her eyes and looking up at him with a mischievous smirk on her mouth, Sasha responded, "Is that not your _name?_ "

And, well. That was just too perfect of an opportunity to pass up.

"You tell me," Bucky shot back, a cheeky grin shining down at her, "you're the one _screaming_ it every night."

"God, you are _such_ a teenager," Sasha groaned. Despite her tone of exasperation, he could see the laughter she was trying to hold in. "Anyways... I like James. I like Bucky too, obviously, but James feels right every now and then. For more intimate moments, I guess you could say."

"You mean like sex?"

Eyes rolling so far back in her head that Bucky was amazed and impressed, Sasha let out, "Okay, so the next time we sleep together? Not a word from me. Not a sound. You get _nothing_."

"Oh, please," Bucky laughed. "Doll, do you not think that I've been _memorizing_ how to get a reaction out of you? We don't even need to sleep together for it to happen, because I _know_ how to get you going."

And that was something he could one hundred percent claim as the truth. Bucky was many things; a man out of his own time, an assassin, a soldier, brother, husband. Something he was not was a lazy lover. Sasha herself had been like a whole new discovery for him, and as their relationship had progressed from strangers to acquaintances to friends to lovers, he'd made it his job to explore every inch of her. Physically, Bucky probably knew Sasha better than she knew herself.

"Okay," Sasha said slowly, detaching herself from Bucky completely. She fixed him with a gaze that provoked a warm sort of feeling in his stomach, and said two words he'd never heard from her before, but very much wanted to continue hearing in the future. "Prove it."

Chuckling, Bucky tilted his head, narrowing his eyes just the tiniest bit. "You don't believe me?" he murmured, face drifting closer to Sasha as each moment passed. Surely she had to trust that he'd made it his business to know her body, in and out. _Surely_.

Sasha simply looked him straight in the eyes and repeated, "Prove it."

And just like that, finding himself rising to the challenge, Bucky did _exactly_ as Sasha commanded. He used his left hand, knowing the coolness of the metal was more likely to elicit _some_ kind of moan, and traced his finger first along the ridges of her cheekbones, then down to her jawline, and dropping over the curve of her throat. "If we do this," he murmured, faced poised just so that his lips brushed her ear, "you're not going to get enough sleep, and I don't want you blaming me when you get grumpy on the plane ride."

"Well, according to you," Sasha murmured, trying to conceal the hitches in her speech which had already shown their faces, "you can get your name out of me without sex. So, theoretically, we should be fine."

Except for the fact that when they got down to it, Sasha was the _last_ one to back away from sleeping with one another. And she _knew_ it, too.

Deciding not to waste time on words, Bucky leaned back from Sasha, just to take in her appearance one more time, before surging forward and kissing her. He kept it slow, and he kept it gentle. If there was one thing he knew was important, it was build up; he'd need to make her _want_ to do it.

He kept at that for a little while, leaning Sasha back on the bed after a few moments, metal hand slowly but constantly creeping its way down her body. When the time came for a change of pace, he left her lips alone and moved his own down to her throat. Sasha's sweet spot happened to be just a few inches down on her throat from where her jaw met her ear; Bucky knew because he'd memorized it. He'd also chosen to find it now because it was the fastest way to get her to gasp.

"Say it," he murmured, smiling against her throat.

Miraculously, Sasha managed to hold out. "N-no," she whispered, hands pressing themselves against Bucky's head, fingers threaded through his hair. What that told him was that he was definitely having his usual affect on her; she was just being stubborn. "You're gonna have to try harder."

And that was when Bucky started playing dirty. He kissed anywhere he could reach, each one longer and more passionate than the last. He'd snuck his hands passed the hem of her tank top, ghosting his metal fingers down the flesh of her midsection. Though she was definitely affected by it all, squirming and sighing and kissing back fully, Sasha had managed to hold out without so much as a moan for a long while.

"Say it," he'd murmur every few minutes, to test how much longer he'd need to keep it up.

Each time, though, she'd respond with, "No." Each one more shaky and unsure than the last. He'd made her want it; he could hear it, could feel it in her touches, in her raking her nails a little forcefully over his back. If he'd not been wearing his shirt, she'd have left scratches. Not that Bucky would have minded them.

What finally got her, in the end, was his shameless teasing. Because he _knew_ that if he waited long enough, Sasha would get to the point where all Bucky would have to do was shift their hips together a little less than gently to get something out of her. And he'd been right, because as soon as he'd done it, Sasha had gasped hard and whispered, "Bucky, _please_."

Smirking, he let his lips fall to her skin again, tongue tracing a line right down her throat. "Say it," he whispered, smirking against her.

"I _did_ ," she hissed, back arching as his metal hand found its way underneath her. " _Bucky_."

"No," he told her again, eyes falling closed. "Say it."

It took her a moment, and he thought he might need to remind her of what had started this whole thing, but she got it eventually. The sensory overload was probably skewing her thoughts.

"James," she whispered, arching her hips up so they met his again. " _James. Please_."

Yeah. Bucky was going to miss Jamaica.

As he'd predicted, Sasha really hadn't gotten enough sleep that night and had pouted almost the whole plane ride back to the United States. She'd warmed up after a couple of hours, he'd guessed, but he didn't blame her a bit. And, truly, it had been amazing to find that his first name was so _alluring_ when said in just the right way. Jamaica had been a state of bliss that Bucky never wanted to forget, and never would for the rest of his life.

In fact, currently, he wished he was back in Jamaica. Or, rather, anywhere but the homely little law firm in Hell's Kitchen. It was no fault of the lawyer's sitting before him; Matt Murdock couldn't help that Bucky was in the mood for a particular sort of company, one which made his name sound so soft and taunting. He also couldn't help that Bucky's mood was less than great, thanks to the matters the two of them were discussing. It just couldn't be helped.

"Mr. Barnes, you seem far away," Matt commented, amusement in his deep voice.

Bucky blinked, and shook his head a bit. His thoughts had been kind of all over the place. "Sorry," he let out, "I was just thinking about my wife, is all."

Matt nodded, either not noticing the shakiness in Bucky's voice or pretending not to. "Where is Mrs. Barnes? If I may ask."

Chuckling to himself, Bucky muttered, "Visiting an old friend." Why she'd want to visit the one she was specifically, Bucky had no clue, but he supposed he understood a little bit. "She asked me to apologize for not being here. You'll meet her next time, I guess."

Matt nodded, and splayed his hands down on the desk in front of him, the movement causing him to tilt forward slightly and making the sunlight filtering through the window catch on the red of his glasses. Behind the tinted lenses, Bucky could just make out Matt's eyes, unseeing and broken. Stupid as it would sound, those eyes went a long way in making Bucky feel unsettled. Despite the fact that he knew Matt was blind, he also felt that the lawyer saw things a lot more clearly than most people did.

"Alright," Matt began. His voice was soft, and about as non-confrontational as he could possibly get it. Steve must have given him some sort of warning, though it wouldn't have been needed either way. If Matt was kind enough to spend his time working on a destined to fail case in Bucky's defense, the least he could do was be as respectful as possible. Bucky hated that he was being dragged into a government issue; he did not hate Matt for trying to help him out of it. "Let's get started, then. Would you mind telling me about yourself?"

His immediate thought was _not fucking likely_ , but that would get them nowhere. Bucky's seeing Matt was not just for his own benefit; it was for Sasha and Marcelline's as well.

And somehow, even though he hadn't said a thing out loud, Matt had managed to pinpoint Bucky's exact thoughts. "If it's too much," he'd begun, a gentle note in his voice.

"No," Bucky interrupted, inhaling a deep breath. This was nothing, _nothing_ compared to what was to come. If everything went to their team's plans, Bucky would soon be participating interviews to win over the sympathetic public. Matt was one person; interviews were national. If Bucky couldn't get one person on his side, how was he to win over the masses? "It's fine. I... I can do it. What do you want to know?"

Matt waited a second, as if to allow Bucky a grace period to change his mind. That, though unnecessary, did _not_ go unappreciated. "Why don't we start at the beginning of what led up to the, ah... video." The one where he'd been captured shooting up innocent New Yorkers. Bucky could still hear their screams of horror, could still hear the begging and cries and pleas for mercy. "Does that sound okay?"

"That means we'd have to start with Sasha," Bucky explained, voice low and not without fondness, "and that would make it a long story."

Knowingly, Matt smiled. "We've got time. How did you meet her?"

And with that, Bucky recounted many of the best and worst experiences of his free existence.

"Work," Bucky sighed, smiling slightly to himself as the memories came flooding back, "she was on her way to work. Wearing her waitressing dress. Some guy, he was... trying to rape her, I'm assuming, and at first I wasn't going to help, but..."

Matt's eyebrows furrowed together, a question already at his mouth. "Why wouldn't you have helped her?"

"You have to understand," Bucky explained. After some time, he'd hated himself for even considering refusing Sasha help, no matter for how small a moment it had been. "I wasn't exactly in the state to help anyone, really. I could barely function for myself."

"So then, what was it about Sasha that caused a change?"

God, what _wasn't_ it?

"I heard her say something," Bucky murmured. "She said something Steve used to say a lot. She looked that guy trying to hurt her in the eyes and wiped the blood off her face and she said 'I could do this all day.' And something about that made me... some sort of instinct kicked in, I guess. I felt the need to protect her. So, I saved her. And I could see that she wasn't well enough to walk home, so I took her myself."

"That was kind of you," Matt noted.

"I mean, not really," Bucky responded, "I just wanted to make sure she was okay. It was the least I could do."

"Trust me," Matt assured him, offering a small smile, "it was kind. Not many people would have done the same." Bucky knew that to be true, and it sort of made him sick.

"I just wanted to be decent again," Bucky sighed, "I was tired of being what Hydra had made me. So I took her back to her apartment and got her cleaned up."

"And after that?"

"I tried to leave."

Matt hesitated, then asked, "You didn't try to... take advantage of her?"

Wow. Bucky didn't think he'd ever been met with such a low standard before.

"Um, excuse my language," he said, "but what the fuck?"

Shaking his head, Matt realized the error of his phrasing. "Sorry, I'm just asking questions a prosecutor might ask. I'm getting ahead of myself."

"It's fine," Bucky muttered. "No, I did not try to take advantage of her. Actually, I'd wanted to leave, but Sasha had insisted I stay. I guess you could say it was late by the time I decided she was okay enough to be left alone, and she'd been under the impression that I could get mugged or something."

"Well," Matt conceded, "you very well could have. This _is_ New York, after all."

"Not me," Bucky stated. Truly, there'd been a time where people actually turned to walk the other way upon seeing him. "You can't see me, but... I'm not exactly the friendliest looking fella."

"Friendly enough to get a wife, it seems," Matt pointed out.

Unable to help himself, Bucky rolled his eyes. "She only likes me for my boyish charm and dangerous good looks."

Matt laughed, hard. Bucky felt a small friendship beginning to bloom. "Those two statements don't really go together, but I'll give it to you. So, what did you do when she asked you to stay?"

"Well, I mean, I didn't know how to say no. So I did what she asked, and I stayed in her guest room. And the next day she tried getting to know me, but I was still cagey, so I left after a few hours. But after that... I wanted to see her again." Back then she'd been such a miraculous new discovery. Honestly, she'd frightened Bucky slightly, with how strange and forward she'd been, but Bucky had grown to love her for it. "She and I ran into each other again, while she was at work. And there, she invited me to her dance recital. And after that... it started getting harder and harder to say no to seeing her."

Gently again, to let Bucky know that it was not Matt asking but the mock prosecutor, he presented another question which was less than comfortable. "Did you not think that by seeing her, you were endangering her?"

It wasn't Matt's fault. Bucky had to constantly remind himself that it wasn't Matt's fault that his job was so hard. "That's _all_ I thought about," Bucky snapped too quickly for him to get himself under control. "Constantly, every day, all the time. And I'd try to distance myself from her, but you have to understand... Sasha is a persistent woman. If she wants something, she'll take it. All she has to do is make her mind up." When Bucky paused, waiting for Matt to ask another question, he found that he was granted with pleasant silence, and so simply continued on with his tale. "Eventually, we got close enough for her to invite me to stay the night. Not sex," he corrected frantically at Matt's quirked brow, "just... cuddling, I guess? Yeah. That's what it was. And that's all I allowed to happen, because I was afraid if we got any closer, my past would come up and hurt her. And I was right."

An unsure pause. Then, "What... exactly, what do you mean by that, Bucky?"

A sick feeling rose in him at the memory. All of the blood from that night, the pain of her being hurt because of him... he'd managed to put it in a box some months ago. Should anything from that box come spilling forth, it would be a temporary game over for quite some time. Temporary being the key word, he supposed.

"Hydra thought it would be fun to make an example of her," Bucky forced out, teeth reflexively gritting themselves at the very thought of what had taken place. It made him want Sasha next to him in that moment, if only so he could touch her and reassure himself that she was still very much alive. "On my... technically my ninety sixth birthday, they had her tortured. Carved a Russian word into her skin to get to me. All it made me do was want to protect her more, and I suppose you could say that my need to protect Sasha was what led up to that video."

"That's good," Matt let him know, nodding more to himself than to Bucky. "If you get a chance, bring that up when you're being questioned in court. The jury will like it." As he spoke, he scribbled a few things on the paper in front of him. Which, admittedly, Bucky found impressive; he hadn't known blind people kept up with the skill. Or, rather, he'd just assumed they didn't. "So, how did protecting Sasha lead you up to a shooting? If I remember correctly, the video had been a message for her."

"By the time the shooting had come about, I'd already been brainwashed." And that was where the gray area laid in wait. Could he claim that they'd forced brainwashing upon him if he'd technically asked for it verbally? His concession had been under high duress and heavy emotional manipulation, true, but he'd plainly asked them to take his memories of Sasha away, if only to end the pain he'd been feeling. "They gave me an ultimatum; sacrifice myself so that Sasha could keep living or watch her die."

Matt nodded, another small hesitation present in his movements. "Obviously you chose the latter. Can you tell me why that was?"

Of course he could. Sasha remained the one thing Bucky was more than willing to protect. Above all else, she was most important. He'd known it then, when he'd tried to trade his life for hers, and he knew it now, and would never let anything close to what had taken place happen to her again. That girl was his life now; if she was gone, then so was he.

"Because Sasha... was kind to me." If he remembered correctly, he'd said something similar to Rumlow in justification of his insubordination. "She looked at me, and where most people would have gotten as far away as they could, she let me stay in her life. When we first met, I was deliberately distant, and hadn't planned on spending more time with her than it would take to make sure she was okay. And she knew that, I think. She knew I was cagey, knew that I wasn't planning on sticking around, but she still... she made sure to offer herself as a friend, because even when she'd just met me, she picked up on the fact that I was lost." Bucky smiled to himself, at the memories of getting to know Sasha. There'd been a time when he hadn't been sure if he'd ever learn to handle himself around the bright, chatty and vibrant girl who had procured for herself a good portion of his thoughts.

"Not that I appreciated it; at least, not at first I didn't. But she never changed her attitude towards me. She respected my boundaries, and my need to keep her at arm's length, and she was _kind_. It was her kindness that drew me in; love came with time, of course, but we were friends first. And she was... Well, she was the first person I'd managed to come close to in this century, so she was quite literally my everything. So when those agents came in that day, threatening to kill her, all I could think about was how kind she was, and how much I loved her, and how much of a shit show the world would be if she died. I figured it could handle losing me, but not her. So I traded myself so that Sasha could live. That video exists because the woman I handed myself to in order to save my wife wanted to inflict more pain on her. Trust me when I say, seeing that video makes me sick to my stomach, but there's more than one reason for it. One of them is because, despite what you may think, despite what anyone may think, I hate killing. I _hate_ it. Back when I was in the army, at least we were convinced it was for a good cause, but taking lives has become something like torture to me. I was given a very particular skill set, and I was forced to use it to no end; sometimes to the point where I'd be drenched in other people's blood. So, no, this video on the Internet? I'm not a fan of it, either. I would do anything to change what I was forced to do to those poor people if I could. I can still see their faces; I can still hear them screaming. But what happened to them... I couldn't help that. There was nothing I could have done, because I didn't belong to myself at that point."

Oh god, he was over sharing wasn't he? This was total overkill. Well, at least it was _sincere_ overkill. Bucky could claim at least that.

Matt stayed silent for a few moments after Bucky finished speaking, and he hadn't quite been sure what to do with himself while waiting for the lawyer to speak. Did Matt believe him? Did Matt believe how sorry he was for what happened, for what he had been forced to do? If he didn't, if Bucky couldn't even convince his own lawyer that his feeling were genuine, then how was he supposed to convince an entire fucking jury?

How did he convince his daughter that her father was not a monster by nature, but rather that he'd been made into one?

Eventually, Matt spoke, mercifully breaking Bucky from his reverie. "Mr. Barnes," he murmured, a note of awe in his voice, "I can't make you any promises here, you know that. But if you can explain all of that to a jury? If you can make a jury understand and empathize with you in the way you just made me? I think you'll come out of this just fine."

And for the first time, Bucky was somewhat hopeful that the outcome of this ridiculous fucking court case would be in his favor.

\--

"Bucky didn't want me to see you," Sasha murmured, wrapping her arms around herself and staring down at her shoes. "He was worried when I told him that I wanted to. Said that there was no reason for me to torture myself over how it all turned out, but... I don't know. You'd think I'm stupid for admitting this, but I guess despite everything I really just miss you." Indeed, she certainly _felt_ stupid, standing there and talking to the grave as though Dominika's ghost would spontaneously pop up and start a conversation if Sasha stood there long enough. As if Dominika would even want to speak to her if she could.

Truthfully, she hadn't been sure if visiting the cemetery was the best idea for her. For one, Sasha found them morbid as hell. Which, _obviously_ they were; a field of dead people wasn't exactly going to be sunshine and rainbows. But then, she hadn't been sure if visiting Dominika's grave in particular would be appropriate. Could you do that? Was it okay to visit the grave of someone who you'd killed yourself, or was their some unspoken rule about it?

Would Dominika have even cared?

Eventually Sasha had decided to just go. Bucky had tried to talk her out of it; he was convinced that Sasha felt she needed to feel bad for what she'd done to Dominika. Which, of course she felt remorse for it; hell, she would've even felt bad if Jacoby had been the one she'd shot to save Bucky, because it was _natural_ to feel remorse for ending someone else's life. It wasn't like she was trying to drown herself in the guilt or anything; her actions, Sasha knew, had been necessary. If she hadn't acted, her daughter would have been fatherless, and Sasha without her husband. So, yes, in the moment? The shooting had been necessary, and Sasha had been completely justified.

But she still felt bad.

"I'm not gonna be able to go back to school this year," Sasha murmured, tracing along the edge of the tombstone with her finger. "Not until Marcelline's born, at least. That's what we're naming her by the way. Marcelline. I'd heard you say it once or twice and it had always sort of been stuck in my head for a baby name. Not that I had planned on needing to use it so soon." This wasn't weird, was it? People talked to graves all the time. Sasha wasn't the first person to do it.

Sasha crossed her arms tighter over herself, resisting the shiver that the wind was urging upon her. Fall had come fast to New York, or maybe it was just that she'd gotten used to the high temperatures of Jamaica. Either way, her body did _not_ like the cold of the September morning, and even Marcelline seemed to be reacting to it, kicking every time Sasha readjusted to better warm herself. She'd need to look into buying a heavier coat; maybe she'd ask Wanda and Natasha to go out shopping with her in the next few days.

She'd been inclined to have Dominika's grave placed in the same cemetery as her father's; her adoptive one, not her biological. God only knew where _that_ asshole was buried. A couple days after Dominika's death, Sasha realized that if she didn't set up a funeral herself, the girl would never be buried. Not in a cemetery, anyway, and Sasha would have felt worse for that, considering she'd dealt the killing blow. And so, a couple days after being gifted with her compensation fee from Shield, Sasha had been quick to purchase a plot for her old friend, and then had her buried. This was the first time she'd been to her grave, though; Sasha had brought bouquets of flowers to leave. One for Dominika, and one for her father, who she hadn't visited in far too long a time.

"Anyway..." What was she supposed to say? How was she meant to feel in this instance? Sasha wished she knew. She also wished it wasn't all so confusing. "Like I said, I miss you. A lot. And I know I shouldn't; I know you would have killed me the second you got the chance, and I know you were only pretending to be my friend, but... not all of that was fake, right? It couldn't have been. Four years together, there's no way you didn't at least like me a little bit... Right?"

All she could do was stare at the tombstone, as though it would answer her question if she were patient enough. But that didn't happen; all Sasha was granted with was the sight of the words she'd had set into the tombstone:

_Dominika Kazakova. Dearly missed._

At the time it was being created, Sasha felt she should have included something about how Dominika had been loved, because Sasha _had_ loved her, but not as Dominika. Sasha had loved her as Nova, and she couldn't have placed the fake name on her tombstone. Somehow, that felt like an even bigger disrespect than just forgoing the burial altogether.

"I want you to know I forgive you," Sasha whispered, fingering the petals of the bouquet she'd laid upon the ground above Dominika's casket. When Sasha had made the plan to come visit her once friend, she hadn't once thought it would be this _difficult_. Truly, she was mere seconds from crying. She couldn't have done that in front of Dominika while she was alive, because she'd have pounced upon Sasha faster than she could blink, but now... it didn't matter now. "What you did to me, what you did to Bucky... It was shit, yeah, but I don't blame you for it. You weren't in a good place; I can understand. And I just _wish_..." The tears were streaming freely now, and Sasha didn't even care. Really, the biggest pain in her ass about it was going to be attempting to hide the mascara streaks from Bucky when she got home. "I wish you would've never told me you weren't really Nova. I wish you would've... that you would've just let us be happy. You, me, and Bucky, we were _good_. And we could've just kept being that way, because you _seemed_ happy. Maybe all of it really was an act, I don't know, but you had to have been happy for at least a little while. But I mean... I don't know. I'll stop now, I guess. I'm sure you're rolling in your grave. I'll be back; I promise. Not really sure when, but it'll happen at some point. Maybe I'll even bring Marcelline by."

Sasha gave herself another moment, let herself take in the sight of the grave so that everything fully hit her. Dominika - _Nova_ \- was in that grave. And Sasha had put her there. The tears were still coming, but Sasha couldn't quite tell what emotion fueled them. Not really guilt, but it wasn't one hundred percent sadness, either.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket, distracting her. Quickly wiping the black streaks off her face as best she could, Sasha reached into her denim jacket to retrieve her phone. Pressing the button, the glowing screen revealed that the vibrating was from an incoming call from Bucky.

Rolling her eyes to herself out of a sort of fondness, Sasha quickly answered the phone. Bucky seemed to have two extra senses: one was knowing when Sasha was having a difficult time. The second was knowing when Steve was getting into stupid shit.

"Hey, baby," she greeted him, smiling as she stood and began slowly meandering away from Dominika's grave. She supposed it was probably as good a time to start heading home as any. "What's up?"

"Just wanted to check on you," Bucky's voice told her. Sasha closed her eyes a second, reveling in the sound of her husband's deep tone. Even without her personal bias, Bucky's voice was one of Sasha's favorites to listen to. She supposed that could partly be because his voice whispering Russian words into her ear was one of her favorite parts of life, but that was to be disregarded. "How you holding up?"

"Just fine," Sasha replied. Reflexively, she sniffed, trying to clear her nose. It always seemed to run a bit when the tears were let lose. "Heading home now."

"You've been crying," Bucky accused. "You promise you're okay?"

Well, maybe not completely, but she'd get there. "I'm pregnant and I'm in a cemetery, Bucky. It's not exactly unexpected."

"I know, doll, I just- hang on one second." Sasha was about to ask what was going on when she heard a muffled " _Fuck off, Wilson!_ " and then Bucky, acting as though nothing had happened, came back to their conversation with, "Anyways, you sure you're good?"

Sasha outright laughed this time, making an amused face at the sky. "What are you and Sam arguing about now?" Ever since Bucky and Sasha had gone to live with everyone me else at the tower, Sam and Bucky's relationship had been petty, for lack of a better word. It was a _friendly_ sort of petty; there was no doubt that the two of them were quickly becoming good friends, apparently bonding over their fondness for Sasha herself, but that didn't override the childish, sibling like behavior the two of them maintained.

"Nothing important; he's just being _fucking rude_." Those last two words were said with a significant rise in volume, no doubt meant to catch Sam's ear, as he was most likely within a ten foot radius. "While I have you on the phone, what do you want for dinner?"

The same thing she'd wanted for dinner every night for the past two weeks, but had been too ashamed to ask for. Fuck it; she'd made a small victory today, coming to Dominika's grave and staying as long as she had. That meant she could spoil herself a little, didn't it?

"Um," Sasha mumbled, biting her lip, "I want Taco Bell."

" _What?_ "

Sighing hard, Sasha couldn't help but smile to herself out of her own embarrassment as she brought her free hand up to rake through her hair. "Taco Belll. I want Taco Bell."

"Who are you and _what_ have you done with my wife?"

"I _am_ your wife, Bucky, I just also happen to be suffering from cravings. Those _happen_ when a woman carries a child."

Despite that this was all at her own expense, Sasha supposed it was a testament to how well Bucky knew her that he was so shocked. "Sasha, when we started being friends you told me that Taco Bell was basically Satan's fruit for dancers."

"Yeah," Sasha responded, "it is. But I happen to be a _pregnant_ dancer. So."

Bucky chuckled to himself, and Sasha couldn't help but note how light the sound of it was. Things with Matt must have gone well, then; Bucky, as of late, had not been this cheery. "You want Taco Bell, we'll get Taco Bell. I just wanna make sure you understand that you're metaphorically signing your soul over to the devil, here."

"Worth it."

\--

"You ever think about having kids?"

Clint's attention was drawn away from his target, and pure shock at the question being placed in front of him led his hand to prematurely release his bow string. Consequently, his arrow had missed the designated target by a good three feet, burying itself deep into the material of Steve's punching bag. The blonde super soldier in turn was snapped out of his methodical punching, and he threw his hands up in the air to mouth a precise, " _What the fuck, Barton?"_ Thank god it hadn't been one of the explosive arrows Clint had been wanting to test.  
Clint's attention, however, wasn't on Steve. It was on Natasha, who was so fixated on sending widow's bite blasts at her target that if Clint hadn't had his hearing aids turned on, no other aspect of her would have indicated that she was waiting for a response.

"Uh," Clint tried, eyebrows furrowing. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm not pregnant," she reassured him, practicing the moves of a defensive maneuver before sending off another jolt of electricity from her wrist gauntlets. "If that's what you were worried about."

Clint rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to his archery. Leave it to Natasha to be the only thing that could make him miss a target unintentionally. "Okay, A," he started, sending three arrows rapidly into the target, "that's not something I'd be worried about. If you _were_ pregnant, it would be great news. And B... why do you ask?"

"No reason."

"Nat."

"What?"

" _Natalia_. Please."

Sighing, Natasha exhaled a sigh through her nose and powered off her wrist gauntlets, pushing her hair out of her face. It was longer now, down past her shoulders, and the ponytail she'd secured it in had gone loose some time after they'd finished sparring. "Guess you could say all this stuff with Sasha and Barnes has been on my mind lately." Just by the tone in her voice, Clint could tell that Natasha was trying to decipher the nature of her feelings towards the subject they were about to broach.

Letting his bow drop to the ground on account of the fact that there was no way in hell this was going to be a casual conversation, Clint walked a step or two away to pick up his water bottle and take a swig. He hadn't noticed how thirsty he'd become, how hot the rec room was; he'd need to bug Tony about getting the air conditioning fixed. Offering the bottle Natasha's way, Clint narrowed his eyes and carefully responded to her with, "Why... why do you make that sound like a bad thing?"

She accepted the water bottle from him, taking longer to drink the water than was needed. Natasha was never someone to be described as uncomfortable just from observation, but Clint had had _years_ to pick up her tells. "I didn't say it was a bad thing."

"You're definitely not making the thought of kids sound like a good thing," Clint pointed out, raising his eyes up to the ceiling. "Alright, come on. If I'm doing something wrong here, you gotta tell me. Save the both of us a lot of trouble."

Something akin to a scoff escaped Natasha, and with that Clint knew the situation was going well. "It's not you, idiot," she mumbled, reaching a hand up to gently tug at what was left of her ponytail. "I just... you remember at the wedding? When we were sitting together, and you told me everyone deserved to be as happy as Sasha and Bucky?"

Of course he remembered that. He'd been mortified at how much of a nervous teenage boy he'd been acting like. Honestly, Clint still kind of cringed every now and again just thinking about how not subtle he'd been. "Yes...?"

Natasha met Clint's eyes head on; he supposed it was just as well. There would be no hiding from this, and there shouldn't have been in the first place. "You wanted to propose, didn't you? You were trying to figure out how I'd feel about it." Clint didn't need to confirm that; Natasha would take his silence as confirmation. "And you... didn't. Propose, I mean."

"You're right," Clint conceded, nodding his head. "I didn't." He waited another moment before letting a small smile find its way on to his face. "Yet."

He'd been worried about it, for just a couple days. Clint had been with Natasha for years, of course, and he was happier with her than he'd ever been, but he wasn't sure how she'd respond to the idea of marriage. His worries weren't exactly unwarranted; Natasha had stated in the past that she wasn't sure how she felt about marriage or what it signified, wasn't sure if it had been important to her. Clint had been okay with that, but he also thought he might at least present the option to her. Now that she was bringing up children, though, and his potential proposal... maybe his worries hadn't had as much to them as he'd assumed.

"And you'd... be okay with that?" Natasha murmured, eyes a little wider than usual. How absolutely bewildered she was. "You'd be okay with... marrying me? And having... and you'd be okay with me having your kids?"

Clint chuckled and stepped forward to press a playful kiss to Natasha's cheek. "Now, I've _never_ been shy about that one, Nat. But, to answer your question... I think I'd be more than okay with all of that. Question is, would you be?"

Shyly, Natasha nodded her head, a small, happy smile shaping her lips. "I think so, yeah."

"Good," Clint responded, bending to pick his bow up off the ground. As he got into position and aimed an arrow towards his target, Clint let slip, "Give me a couple weeks, I'll find a ring." And with that he let his hand go, his arrow burying itself into the center of the red target painted across the room.

Steve's sigh of relief didn't go unnoticed.

\--

"Permission to speak."

"Granted. What do you need?"

She tensed in her chair against her restraints, eyeing the needle which was poised just above her elbow. Even before she'd become what she was, before she'd been made to forget whatever life it was that she'd lived prior to becoming Summer, she was sure she'd hated needles. It wasn't something she was allowed to express aloud in the Hydra base; she wasn't allowed to express anything, really. But that didn't mean she ceased feeling the... discomfort? The discomfort that needles brought her. She just couldn't openly show it.

"I would like to request knowledge," she explained, braving herself as the man before her stuck the needle into a vein in her arm to draw blood. To distract herself, she watched the red which flowed in her veins as it began to quickly fill the syringe. They'd told her that as soon as they extracted what they needed, she could be free for the night. She could go and lay on a bed somewhere in the base, and be free of her freeze chamber. How she missed beds; how she longed for one. She was so _tired_. "What is my blood required for?"

The man before her, her superior officer whose name she still did not possess, held her arm steady as he debated whether or not she deserved to know the information she sought. She supposed she didn't care whether he deemed her possession of the knowledge appropriate; Summer didn't care for much, in reality. But this was not standard; they'd never asked for her blood before. This was about as close to curiosity as she could make herself become.

"A serum," he responded simply. The syringe was now full of her blood, and her superior began pulling the needle from her arm and bandaging the small wound the puncture had left behind. "Your former coworker, Winter Soldier. He has wronged our organization. We need to punish him."

Winter. This was about Winter. She couldn't place it, but there was something significant to be found in that small piece of information. "Winter Soldier already has the serum running through his veins," she pointed out, not bothering to hide the confusion lacing her voice. Normally it wasn't something she was permitted to feel, but this superior seemed to hold his ideals for her to a different standard than the last one had. "My blood won't harm him."

"No, Soldier, it won't. But Winter Soldier has broken free and managed to convince himself that he is more than just an asset. He has started a family, and has rejected the one we built for him here."

Summer's brow knit together. That couldn't have been right; the special assets couldn't feel emotion. For Winter to begin a family would have meant that he had felt things like... well, happiness and love. That wasn't possible; he didn't possess those things, and neither did Summer.

"What... what will the serum be used for?"

Somehow, she'd developed a need to know the answer to that. If Winter was involved, she needed to know. That's when it became important; if Winter needed to be saved from his own thoughts, to be reminded that he was only a war machine and that the only family he could ever have was Summer, Autumn, and Spring, she didn't mind going to make it happen. Winter and the other two were as close to a familial relationship as Summer had been permitted; she didn't take kindly to someone wrecking that for her. Whoever had caused this rift in her small family, whoever has taken Winter and made him think that he was more than what he was, would need to pay.

Summer didn't mind being the one to make that happen.

"We plan to mix it with a chemical which will draw out the mutant gene. Between that and the pain which will be inflicted from the super soldier serum, it should be enough to switch the gene on completely."

"Why this punishment specifically?" If she weren't careful, she'd et hit. She could only ask so many questions without repercussions.

Her superior officer smiled, finishing up the bandage on her arm before moving to take care of her restraints. "Because, Winter Soldier had convinced himself that he hates what he is. And so, we're going to wreck his happiness by injecting the one person he holds most dear in the world. It may take a few years to come to pass, but the waiting makes it... more theatrical, I suppose."

Winter thought he was in love. That's what her officer had said. How far gone was he, then? How long would it take to bring him back?

One more question. One more, and then she would drop it, and go and find a bed to sleep in. How she _longed_ for a bed.

"Who will be injected?"

An almost sickening grin came from her superior officer as he did away with the last of Summer's restraints. "The person he loves most. Alexandrea Barnes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Next one's an epilogue ;)


	46. Epilogue: Seasons of Love

"Sasha?" Bucky prompted quietly from the doorway, doing his best to keep his tone as soft and gentle as possible. With how loud everything had gotten earlier, between Sasha's screaming and Clint's general panic, amplified by Jazzy's own insistence that they needed to stay calm in a manner which said she herself was anything _but_ calm, plus Rosemarie's strategic assessment of the situation and how to get Sasha into care as swiftly as they could, Bucky figured Sasha would appreciate a soft approach, especially after what she'd just been through. Actually, thinking back on it, the panic which had happened earlier hadn't even overlapped with the chaotic happenings of the hospital room during Sasha's labor.

A whole six hours. Sasha's body had been attempting to give birth for _six_ _hours_. Unfortunately, the epidural had _not_ been administered in time, meaning that the only comfort Sasha was offered during the whole birthing process was Bucky's metal hand to squeeze as she pleased and the freedom to tell Bucky several times that he wouldn't be touching her in any sort of sexual nature for the next few weeks. Hell, as long as she made it through the birth okay, Bucky didn't care if she upped his punishment to a few months.

And make it through she did. Six hours through and without a significant pain reductant, Sasha gave birth to their daughter. At exactly 3:24am, Marcelline Marie Barnes had been brought into the world on December 1st, 2014. And following her birth, Bucky had ushered his friends out of the room, leaving along with them, to give Sasha just a few moments to recover and get acquainted with their child.

Now, fifteen minutes later, he was back, and beyond nervous to meet his daughter for the first time of either of their lives.

"Hey you," Sasha cooed gently to their daughter, eyes bright with endorphins as her gaze looked up to find Bucky entering the room, and then redirected itself back to Marcelline, "your daddy came to meet you. You wanna say hi?"

What a picture Sasha was, with her frazzled hair, thin sheen of sweat, and the small pink bundle lovingly cradled in her arms. She looked happy, happier than Bucky had seen in months. Almost happier than she'd been on their wedding day. The little girl in her arms had already charmed her beyond hope, which was not exactly unexpected. Marcelline was half Bucky, after all.

At the lack of footsteps, Sasha let her wonderstruck gaze come back to Bucky. "What are you just standing there for?" she teased, a playful little smile on her face. "Get over here and say hi to Marcie, nerd."

Needing no further invitation, Bucky sauntered forth, unsure of where to look. Silly of him, he knew, but something about all of this was just so... _nerve_ racking. He supposed that was to be expected; Bucky couldn't imagine any man becoming a father and not being at least a _little_ nervous about it.

Carefully sitting himself down next to Sasha on the edge of her hospital bed, Bucky tilted his head and let himself drink in what he saw. His wife, his Sasha, tired and frazzled and looking as though she could fall asleep any time, holding their tiny infant daughter, who was happily warbling in Sasha's arms. Bucky was positive he'd never seen anything so small before. How could anything be _that_ small?

"Hey," Sasha murmured, fixing Bucky with a loving smile. "Wanna hold her?"

Yes. _God_ , yes, of _course_ he did, and was fully intent on reaching forth to take their little pink bundle into his own arms before stopping halfway through the action. A thought occurred to him, and it was one he hated, but also one he wasn't willing to completely let go of, either. Marcelline was small; fragile. And Bucky... did not have the best track record with fragile things.

"Buck?" Sasha questioned, arching a brow. She was holding Marcelline so close to her chest in her arms, so open with her affections for their daughter by way of embrace. Bucky wanted to do the same, but he knew... "What's wrong? Don't you wanna hold Marcie?"

"It's... not that I don't want to," Bucky tried explaining, eyes longingly trained upon Marcelline, who was now beginning to squirm in her blanket. Bucky still hadn't seen her up close yet, and he ached for that. "I want to hold her. I'm just worried that... I don't want to hurt her."

"Why would you-" Understanding dawned on Sasha's face and her mouth shifted into a round 'O.' "Your arm," she breathed. After a moment, Sasha narrowed her eyes, letting them slide between Bucky and Marcelline. "You're not really worried about that, are you?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Bucky countered, careful to keep his tone as far away from argumentative as possible. There was nothing smart about getting into it with a woman who had just gone through childbirth. "This thing's a weapon. If I'm not careful, I could... I could..."

" _If_ you weren't careful," Sasha pointed out, "and you always are. You were scared of the same thing when I kept asking you to hold me tighter whenever we'd-"

"She's not even an hour old and that's too young to be exposed to a sex joke, don't do that to her," Bucky interrupted, a grin on his face. Nevertheless, he supposed Sasha was right. He'd been careful enough before. Still, Sasha was a grown woman; Marcelline was a newborn. One wrong move, just one mistake, and Bucky would never forgive himself for as long as he continued to exist.

"Hold her," Sasha prodded, "you'll be okay." Without waiting for approval, she began slowly and gently pushing the bundle in her arms forward, toward Bucky. "Go on, James. Our daughter wants to meet you."

Bucky looked at Sasha, then at the writhing, gurgling pink bundle in her outstretched arms. Marcelline. His baby girl. He could hold her, couldn't he? If he was careful about it? No harm would come to his daughter if he handled her with care. If he held her like she was china glass, there was no possible way his arm would act up... right?

Sasha was still looking at him and Marcelline was still gurgling, delighted as she was to have finally joined her parents in the world, and Bucky found he couldn't resist. Not wasting another moment, Bucky gingerly reached forth and took Marcelline into his arms. He couldn't let mere possibilities control his actions, and though it were somewhat selfish, he probably wouldn't have been able to hold out for very long anyway.

Because Marcelline, a baby, a _daughter_ , had been all that Bucky had ever really wanted; and now, he finally had her.

She wasn't as light as Bucky had thought she would be. Of course, when it came to his strength and his bionic arm, there wasn't much in the world that Bucky could say was heavy, but his daughter was much... sturdier than he thought she would be. If Bucky weren't mistaken, he was pretty sure the doctor had said she was twelve and a half pounds, which was an impressive weight for an infant. The words of Thor's brother, Loki, suddenly flew to the forefront of Bucky's mind.

_I can tell you, with certainty, that your daughter thrives within her mother. She will be born strong, and healthy. Just as you... appear to be._

Strong like him. Upon hearing that news for the first time, Bucky had been more concerned with the affirmation that Marcelline was going to live a healthy, long life. What he'd failed to comprehend was that Loki had apparently meant _exactly_ what he'd said. Marcelline would be _strong_ , like him. And Bucky's strength was, by nature, super. It was a lot to garner simply based off of Marcelline's weight, but Bucky was certain. Marcelline would grow, become strong, be able to do things other little girls could never hope to be capable of.

And then, there was the question of her aging process. None of the successful super soldiers, not Bucky or Steve or any of the three girls, had been allowed to age normally. Bucky couldn't be sure what the serum did, whether or not it sped up or slowed the process down. There would, of course, be no way to pick up on that information... unless by some miracle Loki could answer that question.

Bucky was pulled out of his thoughts by a small tap against his chest. Small, but sturdy. Looking down, he found Marcelline preparing to let her fist fly at him again, eyes curiously peering up at him as they fluttered against the light.

Eyes as blue as his own.

"Hi," Bucky murmured, leaning down carefully to press his lips to her forehead. Marcelline was soft, and already smelled as babies often did, skin warm to the touch. When he pulled back, he found that she was still blinking at him, still taking him in with those robin's egg blue eyes of hers. "It's nice to finally meet you, little one."

Marcelline began rapping her fist against Bucky's chest again, and made a noise that was as close to a greeting as an infant could get. "Gaaaaaah," she let out, blinking. And just one second later, something which resembled a smile formed on her lips.

"Blue eyes," Bucky noted, grinning harder than he had in a while and directing his gaze to Sasha. It was almost... _hard_ , looking away from Marcelline. "Like you wanted."

Sasha grinned back, an exhaustion the likes of which Bucky had never seen before writing itself across her features. "Doctor said those could still change over the next few weeks, as her skin gets darker," Sasha mumbled, dragging a hand up to rub at her own eyes, "but I don't think that's gonna happen. They look like yours. She looks so much like you, Bucky. Really."

"And when she darkens up and her hair gets longer than just a few tufts, she'll look like you," Bucky responded, "but with blue eyes."

"She's so..."

"Perfect?"

"Yeah."

"I know. Nothing's ever gonna change that."

As Sasha laid there and let her eyes slip closed, and as Marcelline squirmed in his arms, beating against his chest, laughing and gurgling up at him, Bucky too let his eyes close for a moment, and reveled in the fact that he was exactly where he wanted to be.

\--

"So, realistically," Steve murmured, keeping his eyes trained on the hospital door he was was waiting across the hall from, "how long do you think it'll be before the lawsuits roll in?"

Rosie narrowed her eyes in thought, still trying to register that Steve had an arm around her shoulders. Not romantically, of course; the action was strictly platonic. She'd been complaining of how chilly the hospital was, the hallway in particular, and Steve, lacking a coat, had simply placed an arm around her. Thankfully, her siblings were _nowhere_ in sight; Jazzy, who was on a coffee run with Tony and Sam, would have been squealing to no end about it, and Bucky... Well, Rosie wasn't quite sure just what he'd think about her feelings for Steve. Back in the day there was no doubt he'd have been less than thrilled about it, but now that they were all adults, things _had_ to be different, right? Things could be different. Rosie could inwardly beam about his arm being around her shoulders all she wanted; their age gap was no longer scandalous.

"Good question," Rosie responded, bringing a fist up to rub at her eyes. Since having integrated herself and Jazzy into life at Stark tower, she'd been taking advantage of having control over her own life. That meant that she'd sleep as long as she could, staying up no later than midnight because she was so excited to see what sort of dreams she'd have. Nightmares would pop up occasionally, but nothing as severe as Bucky's apparently were. Sleep was when Rosemarie owned herself completely; sleep was the only time when she was fully in charge of herself. And, now that she didn't have to deal with cryofreeze? Sleep was _warm_. That being said, the fact that she was still awake at 3:30 in the morning was mildly pissing her off. "Matt said they're waiting until they have everything they can dig up on him, right?"

"Right," Steve reaffirmed, letting his eyes slide closed and leaning his head back against the wall he and Rosie were standing against. She could both see and feel the fatigue in him, in his tired face and his relaxed muscles. "But that can't be much, can it?"

"Well, it depends." There had been a few nights where she'd stayed up and thought about this exact question to herself. Needless to say, those were definitely _not_ some of her better nights. "They've got access to those Hydra files that Natasha dumped online, and one of those files was Bucky's. All his intended targets, all the ones he actually took care of, his... oh, _fuck_."

Steve's eyes snapped open and went straight to Rosie. Although it wasn't the time, she couldn't help but appreciate that he was so quick to show concern for her. It would've been nice if it hadn't come after such a worrisome revelation. "What is it? What's wrong?"

How stupid she'd been to let herself forget. How stupid she _and_ her siblings had been.

When he was met only with silence from Rosie, Steve removed his arm from around her and placed his hand on both her shoulders. That almost got her attention back to him immediately, and that fact was only slightly embarrassing. "Rosemarie. Is something the matter?"

Yes. Something most definitely was the matter, and to be quite honest, it should have been the first thing she'd brought to Bucky's attention when she and Jazzy had returned to his life. Stupid. This whole thing could wreck them for all they were. _Stupid_.

"We... his file. Holy fuck, his _entire_ file is on the Internet."

At this, Steve pulled his brows together in confusion and bewilderment. "Well, yeah, Rosie, it was an intelligence dump. Yours and Jazzy's are probably online too."

All she could do was shake her head as the realization pressed down upon her skull, burying her thoughts beneath tons and tons of rubble. This wasn't good; this was dangerous. "No, they aren't. Jazzy, Sophie, and I were three of Hydra's best kept secrets. Only the top officers knew we existed, and even then only a handful of them had access to us. Bucky was more... versatile. A lot of organizations from different countries would hire his services, so he was well known, but the girls and I weren't common knowledge. Our files are literal files; just paper. Bucky's wouldn't have been. Bucky's would have been dumped onto the Internet with everything else."

"Well, yeah," Steve continued, desperately trying to understand, "but it's not like they're gonna find anything now that no one had access to before."

"That's what I'm worried about," Rosie pressed, raking a hand through her hair and staring hard at the door to Sasha's hospital room. Oh, God, she was going to have to be the one to break the news to them, wasn't she? "Anyone with a smartphone has had access to Bucky's file for a long time now. And, for building up a case against him, yeah, that's advantageous, but you... you don't get it, what they're going to find is so much worse than that."

Steve breathed in for a second, trying to get his head around what Rosie was telling him. "I don't get it. There's... something worse than the documented murders he's committed?"

So much worse, in fact, that Rosie was kind of on the verge of throwing up. How they'd forgotten, she had no fucking clue, but she was almost certain there was nothing to be done now. The government had probably already found it. What they would do with it was what remained the mystery.

"His trigger words," Rosie muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. Stupid. _Fucking_ stupid. "All of us had them. Ten words that would trigger the soldier mindset in case we ever broke our brainwashing. They're like... It's like Hydra put ten locks inside our heads, and the trigger words are the keys to them. We each have our own set, so none of our words are the same, but that doesn't matter. What _does_ matter is that Bucky's trigger words are in his fucking file, which has been leaked on the Internet for almost two years."

Steve's eyes widened, and they only got bigger as the seconds passed. "You... you can't be serious, oh my _god_. Why didn't he _say_ anything?"

Rosie shook her head, trying not to bite on her lip. "He probably forgot about them. Or, he didn't forget, but they aren't exactly the types of thing that he'd want to think about when starting a new life." And really, if her brother _had_ actually forgotten about his triggers, Rosie wouldn't have blamed him. He'd been right to put them out of his mind, to pursue a life with Sasha. Now, though... now he would have to start thinking about them again. "God, Steve, this is bad, this is _so_..."

At the change in her voice, at the purely terrified desperation which had become present, Steve offered her a comforting touch. "Hey," he murmured, drawing Rosie into his arms. They both might've been super soldiers, but the effects on Rosie's body had been significantly less than the ones on Steve's. He was only a few inches taller, but his muscles were substantially larger. When he hugged her, he seemed to fully envelope her. "It's gonna be fine, alright? Nothing's gonna happen to Bucky, I won't let it. You guys are my family; I'll protect you. Better than I did back in the day. Just know that I won't let anything happen to you guys, alright? Not Bucky, not Jazzy, not Sasha or Marcie. Not you. Do you hear me?"

She wasn't crying; nothing much warranted crying anymore, but she was... there wasn't a correct way to describe it. She was upset, of course, because of the new threat to her brother, but she was also relieved that Steve was there. Did she believe that Steve _could_ take care of the issue solely? No, not really. But the small comfort that he could offer, the protection and friendly embrace, she was thankful for that.

Maybe the government would come for her brother. Maybe they would use his triggers against him, and maybe they'd try taking her away from him just as Hydra had. But, while she was in Steve's arms, those things weren't nearly so scary. He could help her, maybe. He could help her protect her family, and perhaps sometime soon she could figure out her feelings for him. They could make everything work.

It was a nice little day dream.

"I need to tell Bucky," Rosie whispered against Steve's chest, barely conscious of the moisture beginning to pool in her eyes. "He needs to know, he and Sasha... _Christ_ , Steve, they literally _just_ had Marcie..."

Despite her words, Steve only seemed to tighten his embrace. She wasn't complaining; to be honest, she kind of needed it. "We'll tell them together, okay? It doesn't just have to be on you."

They spent a few more moments there, in the hallway. Just... holding each other. Rosie longed for it, really, and could imagine a time in the near future where this sort of thing would become her every day. She saw the way Bucky held Sasha, saw how loving and affectionate they were, how completely head over heels her brother was. Rosie had decided that she wanted something similar, but with someone who looked nothing like her brother.

And when Rosie was over her initial fear, when she'd managed to remove herself from Steve's comforting embrace without wanting to completely fall apart, she held herself a little higher. She let her hand stay enveloped in Steve's, kept her chin tilted high, and ignored the sinking feeling in her stomach as she and Steve walked towards Sasha's hospital room.

It wasn't good news. It wasn't news of any kind of positive nature. But... Well, there really wasn't much of that kind of thing to go around anyway. Marcelline's birth would most likely remain one of the only positive events in Bucky and Sasha's lives for the next several months. Their daughter would bring them light, would bring them happiness just by existing. She would have to be the beacon for her parents' hope, and more than likely for quite some time. But, she could do it. That girl was a Barnes; she'd be strong enough to do anything she chose.

With that on her mind, Rosie stepped forth to ruin her brother's life just a little more.

\--

The serum wasn't ready yet. Actually, it probably wasn't going to be ready for a few more years, but that was fine. As long as it was completed, and as long as she got Winter back, everything else would pay off. They hadn't told her explicitly what her mission would be when the time came, but she could guess. She was going to be the one to wreck Winter's life. It was why Hydra had her scoping out the hospital he and his so called wife currently occupied.

She'd watched as the woman, no more than a girl, really, had been rushed into the childbirth center somewhere around six hours ago. Brown skinned, stomach swollen, hair wild and framing her contorted face. Alexandrea Barnes possessed something of an effortless sort of beauty, and it was noticeable even while she was in pain. Summer supposed it made sense that Winter would have picked her to fall in love with; she was aesthetically pleasing enough, she supposed, and apparently their sexual habits had been enjoyable enough to lead to the conception of a child. Alexandrea Barnes had singlehandedly taken away the only form of family Summer had been allowed to keep in that cold, unforgiving Hydra base. It was why Summer didn't mind causing her suffering.

And Winter had been hovering over her, clutching her to him as he carried her to the hospital's entrance in his arms. He looked... different from when Summer had seen him last. Gone was the jerky, machine like quality of his posture and movement. As he carried Alexandrea to the hospital, draped and curved around her as though she were his lifeline, Summer could see that he'd become more human. The emotion he held within him was visible even from a distance, and _that_ was... that was difficult to wrap her head around. When had winter become so human? With his cut hair and clothes lighter in color than anything she'd ever seen on him before, he looked like a normal man. He looked handsome. He looked like-

 _Jamie_.

The name came out of nowhere, and caused Summer to lose sight of her true surroundings for just a moment. Everything sort of blurred for a second, and instead of seeing Winter carrying Alexandrea into the hospital, flocked by their friends on the Avengers team, she saw a blurred vision of a man similar to Winter's build. She couldn't make out a face; all she saw was dark hair, fair skin, and a kind and gentle hand reaching forward to take her own.

And with this vision... with it, she felt something that she could only describe as warmth. It was in her chest and her stomach, there as suddenly as that vision had come. Was this Jamie she was seeing? Was this the person whose name was keeping her grounded to the small shred of humanity she still possessed? Why was she only just starting to get flashes of him? And why now, of all times?

Blinking her eyes to dispel the vision, or memory, or whatever it was that Summer was seeing, she cleared her sight just in time to see Winter disappear into the hospital, still arched over his laboring wife. Distantly, she found herself wondering whether the child would be male or female, and what they might name it once it was born. Not that it mattered, she guessed, but curiosity was a luxury that she could afford to take advantage of in private.

It wasn't going to happen immediately. It wasn't even going to happen within a few months. The serum was going to take time to reconstruct from just her blood, and Summer figured the time it took was going to be closer to years. But, she was not an impatient person. She could wait for the serum to be made. She could wait to be given the go ahead to take her mission and inject Alexandrea with the mutant gene super serum cocktail Hydra was designing for her. Summer could wait to inflict pain on those who dared to pretend what they were doing was correct.

Summer would wait. When it came to getting Winter back, Summer was willing to wait as long as it took.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD WE'RE DONE!! This story took over 2 years to write, and I'm so stoked that I actually made it to the finishing point! Actually, this is my first completed work of fiction, ever. It feels good to have accomplished this, and I can't even begin to thank the many people who have taken the time to read it, comment, and all of that. Thanks to all of you! Now, I know some of the plot points haven't been tied up. Don't worry! I'm working on a sequel! It probably won't be 46 chapters long, but that's what I said about this story too, so you never know! I hope you enjoyed reading, because I know I've enjoyed writing, and I thank you all for your support. Please let me know your thoughts and feelings!


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